


Nevermore (Reprise)

by moonsandstar_s



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, F/M, LOTS of team strq, M/M, and the bird twins, no gross ships because that's gross, this is going to be a /long/ one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10066286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsandstar_s/pseuds/moonsandstar_s
Summary: He is damaged, far too damaged. Remnant is full of fairytales and legends, but it is just as full of beasts and demons, and his misfortune only marks him out as an outcast. The souls that Salem has taken are lost; they are beyond redemption, as he will soon be.Team STRQ is shattered. One dead. One lost. One traitor. One damaged.By watching the turn of the clock, Qrow can see that there's not much time left before the same fate repeats itself on the ones he loves.





	1. i. i am damaged

_He was born to the wind and sky, a bird in flight. Born to the blood of the tribe, spilled across the pavement, and to his sister, one whom darkness knew well. Melded to a team— to Taiyang, the one of sunshine, and Summer, shackled to silver and murdered by a legend. He brought misfortune wherever he planted his roots, abandoned the ones he loved, created a spot of turbulent darkness in a beacon of shining light._

_A beacon, one that glowed like a star, erected from nothing. His home, now an empty shell. He remembers the one who stood apart from the crowd, unencumbered by the troubles of everyday life, untouched by humanity’s strife, the spirit of light._

_The man who was devoured by fire and burned to nothingness, swallowed up and spat out into shards, consumed by the breath of autumn._

_Qrow remembers this: his copper eyes._

_He thought he’d never see them again._

 

* * *

 

He was born to the tribe on the cusp on autumn and winter, when the last of the leaves fell from the trees, along with his sister. The tribe had never been one to celebrate the birth of new stock, but twins were uncommon, and the healer of the tribe predicted enormous fates ahead of them. “The girl,” the healer had said, “shall bring luck and fortune. She will open the closed eye that can see the future’s events. Good luck lies in her path, but it will not be an easy one. She will lead us out of famine and into strength. On wings of darkness, this child will fly us to infamy.” 

And they named her Raven, for the bird that followed the wolves, and for the inborn ability of the tribe, the ability to shape-shift.  

“This one will bring misfortune wherever he may tread,” the healer said of the second child, a boy. “His path winds long and dark. It is impossible to see the end of it. The tribe will never make use of him, nor he of us. His path is shrouded in mist, obscured by things I cannot divine, a fate marred by misfortune… the pitfalls along the way will surely kill him.”  

And they named him Qrow, the sign of bad luck, and cast him down while his sister rose in the eyes of the tribe. 

When the twins entered the world, the first snows began to fall. 

 

* * *

 

“The last survivor,” one of the tribe members croons, his voice taunting. “Your whole village is dead, isn’t it? Pity you’ll follow them. Don’t you know that nothing outside your precious little kingdoms is safe anymore?” 

Qrow edges forward in the shadows, his hand on his dagger. The tribe is not kind, and they will punish him cruelly, if he’s found eavesdropping. They’re taunting a little girl from the village they raided last. She’s not much older than he is— only twelve, he would guess. Twelve years old. 

She is missing one eye. They’ve been torturing her for a while now, and she hasn’t seen sustenance in days, except for scummy water and food so molded that it resembles dirt. Her hands, altogether, have less than four fingers left. Her skin is gashed up, vicious old wounds layered over newer, red over brown. He can smell the scent of infection, fear, and pain, even from here. Her hair is more tangled than a bird’s nest, and her remaining eye— a terrified green— peers out from between the gaps in her hair. Two tribe members are standing over her, mocking her, and the sunlight shines off the knives they hold in their hands. 

“Tell me,” one of the tribe members purrs, “who is the Master?” 

The girl shrinks back, silent. 

“Who is the Master?” he repeats again, his voice dangerously quiet. “ _Answer me.”_

Again, no answer. 

Instantly, they descend upon her, beating her and torturing her, because her will is not broken yet. She will not submit to them. And for that, he knows, she will surely die. It’s not long before she will succumb, he can tell, but in the time between now and then, it will be living hell for her. She screams as they bring out their knives into the equation, and blood mixes with the dirt. Qrow’s hands clench together, and he winces at each scream, a jolt going through his body. 

Her howls of agony swarm through the air like birds, flocking in his ears, and he cowers away, hands over his ears. His nails scratch against his temples so hard he almost draws blood, but the agony in them— the strangled pain— tells him that what they’ve done before is nothing compared to what they’re doing to her now. 

Qrow scowls, but bile rises in his throat. His hands seem to pulse, and his eyes widen as he realizes his semblance is reacting. One of the tribe members yells, startled, as his knife jerks to the side, misfortune yanking it from his hand, and it plunges towards his foot, point-down. He leaps back, shouting angrily. 

“Who in the hell—” He begins, before casting around, eyes roving over the shell of the blackened town. Qrow scrambles back into the shadows, desperate not to be seen by those searching eyes, but he’s not fast enough. 

“Damned bastard kid,” the member hisses, stalking towards him with the knife. “Get out of here, you useless, misfortune-causing—”

Qrow jumps to his feet and runs, leaving dust billowing in his wake as fear ignites in his heart, but he’s not fast enough to outrun the sound of the little girl from the town.   


* * *

 

The night he shifts into his crow for the first time, he flies straight for Vale, and never looks back. 

 

* * *

 

Life on the streets is hard.

Every day is an uncertainty. Often, he goes hungry, curled in a back alley underneath corrugated tin and dumpsters. The only food he can get is what he nicks from market stands and paws out of trashcans. The only bright side of his life is when he transform into a crow and fly over the city, seeing the true beauty of it, the winding rivers, soaring spires, glittering buildings. He speaks to birds, tells them where to fly. He can hear the songs on the breeze, and for the moment, life is good. 

Kids try to fight him all the time when they find him in the streets, like some rat. They aren’t real fighters, just thugs and idiots, and  
he wins so easily. He always wins. Every time he strikes the finishing blow, he feels like he loses another part of himself. 

 

* * *

 

He is seventeen years old now. It’s been seven years since his parents were killed. Five since he witnessed the murder of the little girl. And it’s been only hours since he sustained another wound. He has nothing now— he is still fleeing the tribe, fleeing their cruelty, seeking a better life. 

A group of rich kids playing at being gangsters jumped him a while ago in an alley while he was scrounging around— nothing he couldn’t handle, but they’ve cost him precious energy and the sheer amount that attacked him gave him a few wounds that sting like fury. To top it all off, they stole the meager supply of Lien and Dust he had forged. Now, he has nothing. He is nothing but Qrow Branwen, bastard of the tribe, ally to the wind and sky, renegade of the tribe, ex-brother to Raven. There is nothing but the clothes on his back, the wounds on his body, and the knife in his hand. 

He walks down the streets of Vale, fresh out of a back-alley fight. He’s pissed off, itching to start and finish another fight. At least in battle, there is nothing but the mind numbing-chill of adrenaline. His anger feels like live wires, twisting and coiling white hot in his veins, and he can see the muscles moving beneath his skin, flaked with white scars. 

His chest aches. The puckered, jagged scar there, stretching from collarbone to navel— one he received many years ago— stings like fury. It was Raven’s fault that he ever got it in the first place, but she would never admit it. They’d always promised to have each other’s backs in a fight— until, one day, she didn’t. Now, the scar is reopened, bleeding shallowly from a blow he sustained recently. 

Above his head, a bird croaks. 

He turns to look up. There’s large black raven perched on the elegant curve of a light-pole, its red eyes fixed upon him with a a beady glare. It would look unassuming to anyone else, but he can see the amused cock of his head, the slight ruffle on the crest of its head, and there’s also the irritating fact that he knows his sister, though it’s been five years since he’s seen her, and he would know her anywhere. 

Glancing down the street to make sure that it is still devoid of people— he’d look especially idiotic if someone caught him chattering at a bird— he raises his head to the raven with a scowl. “How long have you been stalking me?” 

The bird spreads its wings and spirals to the ground. Midway in flight, it elongates and shifts, and then Raven tumbles out of the air and lands in a catlike crouch, smiling up at him. She’s always been able to shift from human to corvid easier than he has, and she makes it look effortless. Rising, she dusts herself off and tilts her head, studying him— all sharp teeth and narrowed eyes. “Not long, brother. Maybe a week’s time.” 

“That’s actually pretty long. I didn’t know you found me so interesting.” Qrow scowls. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any sign of you, Raven. Too long for this to just be an idle visit. I ran away years ago— five, to be exact. What brings you here now, after all this time?” 

“I’m on a mission… my first one ever. The tribe believes I’m out scouting out other villages to attack, and I found one swiftly enough to allow for this little… excursion. I wanted to find you before now, but it was impossible without risking them finding out.” She tosses her black hair behind her shoulders, taking a deep breath. “So here we are.” 

Qrow scowls at her, and imagines how he looks— gaunt and ragged, every rib showing, his battle-marked skin a harsh reminder of the life he’s eked out in the streets, fighting and stealing to survive. Just as the tribe has— but now, he imagines, he _will_ be able to escape it. He has to. He’s seventeen, after all; that’s the applicant age to enter a combat academy. And his fighting skills are plenty advanced. 

“I don’t want to speak to you,” he says at last, dragging his attention back to his sister. “The tribe has a way of sinking its claws into its members… and that’s obvious with you. So if you’re here to drag me back there, beat it. I’m done with them, done with their murdering and thieving and stealing, and I’ve been done with it for years. I’m not going back.”  

Raven looks haughty at his quick dismissal, and he can see her jaw tighten with disapproval. “If you must know, that wasn’t my intention at all, but if you insist on being so _prickly_ all the time, brother _…”_

He begins to walk, his stride tightly clipped, and Raven moves to his side, her eyes flashing. “You can’t avoid me forever!” 

“I can sure as hell try.” He tries to duck to the side and outpace her, but she matches him stride for stride. 

“What if I were to make a proposition?” His sister’s voice has the edge of an amused purr. “Your listening ear in exchange for a promise of honesty, little brother. I’ve never lied to you. Never had cause to. You’ve never tried to understand me, nor I you, but we’re family. Shouldn’t that count for something?” 

His eyes go to slits. “Your deals always involve some sort of double-cross. Please, don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you’re an innocent little flower.” 

Raven’s nostrils flare, and she steps into his path, forcing him to stop. “You act like you’re so secretive,” she snaps, “but you’re an open book, _brother._ Do you think the tribe didn’t know of your desires long before you saw that little girl murdered? They knew you shifted into your crow and flew out to Vale, to study the Hunters, study their ways. They knew you were growing restless. I daresay they even knew you would leave them, despite everything they gave you. Perhaps you are desperate to play the hero, but it’s a path that will only take you to your own demise. I cannot stop you from running off like a starry-eyed fool, pursuing your destiny. I can’t even keep you from chasing after the malleable idea of destiny, throwing away all the heritage of your past for an idiot’s dream of being a Huntsman. That’s not where you belong. You know that.” She looks pointedly in the direction of the soaring spires of Beacon Academy. “That’s not your home, Qrow.” 

“I always knew you were pragmatic,” Qrow grunts, shielding his anger at her words as his hand wraps around the hilt of his knife. “Though, sis, I’ll admit I never really realized you could be so much of a bi—”

“It’s not your home _alone,”_ Raven interrupts without a trace of anger, “but it could be _ours_.” She hesitates. “If I came with you.” 

He eyes her suspiciously. “No offense, but I can tell you’re lying. Why would you leave the tribe? They’ve always been a bigger part of you than I have ever been. That’s just how it is.” A pang of sadness echoes in his heart. “Why would you leave them behind to come with me?”  

She looks caught off guard for a moment’s instance, but it quickly disappears, replaced by a mask of cool self-certainty. “The tribe means much to me, yes. But you’re my brother… and knowledge is power. There is much that the tribe cannot teach me, of the ways of Remnant— knowledge I could acquire there, at Beacon Academy. The leader of the tribe was grooming me to become the next in line, but I’m not ready. I know myself. Power is something I could handle so easily, but it would be rash to take it now, while there is still so much to learn, so much to change before I shoulder a burden like that.” Her eyes darken, the color of freshly-spilled blood. “And… I care for family, even if you do not.” 

“Family means nothing. It’s just something you’re born into.” 

“Your heart is filled with bitterness,” she tells him. 

 _She could be lying,_ he thinks. Raven has always been remarkably gifted at duplication, but her gaze is guileless. She’s either become an extremely good actor in the time since he’s last seen her… or she’s telling the truth. 

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Qrow grunts, before he unsheathes his knife, and looks at it. The sunlight sparks off it, gold and silver, and Raven stiffens. Qrow puts it away, and reaches out his hand towards his sister. “But I’ll give you another chance.” 

Raven takes his hand in a firm grip, nodding, her eyebrows forming dark slashes sheltering the depth of her eyes, and what hidden motives might lie there. “And I will be honored to take it.” 

 

* * *

 

They both apply for Beacon. 

They find a small coffee shop, ignoring the glances of the patrons as they stride in— they both look scruffy and wild— and find a table near the back to fill the forms out in quiet. Raven frowns down at her paper, and he helps her, ignoring the amusement he feels at it. He’s technically her little brother by mere minutes, but it’s good to know he still has the edge in cases like these. The form is nothing fancy— just printed applicant boxes on cream-colored paper, with lines for a signature. At the top, the headmaster’s name is flourished in a simple script. _Professor Ozpin,_ it says. Privately, Qrow thinks it’s a ridiculous sort of title. 

The register with their names, Qrow and Raven Branwen. 

They easily fill in the boxes asking them to describe themselves and why they want to be Huntsmen or Huntresses. Qrow’s honest about it— no point in lying, really, if he’ll only be caught— and marks down his motives as being the same as anyone else’s: he just wants a career that’s not as constrictive as others, and one that allows him to help others out, while being an adventurous job. He has no idea what Raven puts, nor does he want to know. 

They register with their choice of weapon, or the idea of weapon they might like to forge. Raven marks her down without a hint of hesitation— she’s always fought with a blood-red katana and a few vials of Dust, something the tribe gave her after a particularly remarkable display in a raid— but Qrow wavers, his pen hovering over the paper long enough to blotch. He has no weapon, because he’s never stood out like his sister has enough to earn one. Not unless you count the dagger he carries around— he doesn’t count that. 

 _I request a forged weapon,_ he writes. _I will make it with my own two hands, so long as I can use the material and a furnace. I’m not afraid of hard work._  

He thinks a larger weapon would be good. He doesn’t want to use something that the tribe uses, so mentally, he rules out the idea of any maces, or bows, or knives. A sword would be nice— a greatsword, one that’s full of power and promise. He might even fancy it up and include a shift in it, to symbolize how he can shift to a crow… something unexpected, like a gun, or a scythe, like those used to cut down fields.  A faint smile crosses his lips, and he looks around, surprised by the burst of lightness in his chest. This is all so unfamiliar— feeling hopeful, sitting with his sister in a quiet but comfortable silence, applying for a future he knows is right for him. He almost feels happy.  

Under the box that asks them to label their semblances and any additional details, Qrow’s chest tightens. As if on cue, somewhere in the shop, he can hear the tinkle of a glass shattering, and an angry shout.

“Misfortune,” he growls. 

Raven’s eyebrows raise in an amused manner and she sneaks him a sly, sidelong glance. “Misfortune, indeed. Just be glad that it’s not you dropping a glass. You know, you might even be able to turn your semblance to your advantage at the Academy, Qrow. Just be sure to hang around those you don’t like, and you’re home free.” 

“It’s not funny,” he snaps, and she smiles. 

“I never said it was, my brother.” Then she looks directly at him, her good mood fading. “Do not tell them you can shape-shift. That marks us out as different. And what society deems as different, they deem unnatural— they don’t understand what’s different, so they brand it as an outcast, and drive it away.” Her voice is dark and heavy. “Believe me, I know.” 

He notices a pale scar stretching from her temple and disappearing into her hairline. She didn’t have it when he fled the tribe, and he is half-tempted to ask what it’s from, before he decides to let it go. “I won’t.” 

He marks down misfortune just as she marks down good luck, and he wonders why some people are cursed in life while others are blessed. 

 

* * *

 

They are accepted one week and five days later. 

 

* * *

 

The initiation ceremony is awful, and the speech is just as redundant and boring; he’s beginning to sweat under his gear and regret all of this. He’s surrounded by a swarm of gossiping idiots who seem to have no idea that this is a school for fighting and battle, not parties and fun. Raven slinks off soon after they enter the amphitheater, and he doesn’t bother following her. He slips to the front of the crowd, eyes narrowed. Behind him, someone trips, falls, and cries out as their nose begins to gush blood, but he doesn’t turn around to look at them. He is past the point of worrying about those whom his semblance affects. 

The headmaster, Professor Ozpin, is up at the forefront of the stage, standing silently and observing the crowd. A ray of sunlight falls through the window and illuminates him, bathing him in warm gold. Qrow stares up at him, reminded of a statue carved like an angel. All he lacks is the wings flaring out from his back. He’s way younger than Qrow expected, and flicker of surprise shocks him, for a moment. He’d expected to see some boring old guy, complete with wobbling jowls and absolutely no idea how combat actually worked. But this man meets neither expectations. Sure, there’s a cane balanced under his crossed palms, but Qrow doubts he uses it; Ozpin looks no older than— 

Come to think of it, Qrow can’t actually guess his age. He looks ageless, in a way. Like something that’s stood here as long as the school, as long as Remnant itself. 

“May I have your attention,” he says into the microphone. Something about his voice— resonating a quiet power— makes the room fall silent instantly, as if holding its breath, put into a trance. “Thank you all for coming here today. While Remnant is full of many excellent professions, the career of a Hunter is, in my mind, a noble one to pursue. You all have one common bond: you have decided you want to aid your world through your skills, and make it a safer place. You have put your duty and your people ahead of yourself, and through careful selection, we chose the individuals who we feel will be the most… suited, per se, to this task.” His eyes rove the room, passing over the shifting crowd, and Qrow takes a step back as they pass over him. 

“As you know,” Ozpin goes on, “most of you sent applications within the span of the previous month. The remainder of you entered Beacon with an open application. Now, all of you will be fielded for your unique combat abilities, and narrowed down from there on out. I am sure you have heard rumors of our initiation ceremony. They run rampant through Vale, each one wilder than the last. Allow me to end those rumors right here.” 

From the crowd, a kid shouts out, “Is it true that we’ve got to wrestle a King Taijitu and win?” 

“Not in the slightest, I’m afraid,” the headmaster replies, a brief smile gracing his face, and Qrow feels his heart lighten a little bit. “Our process is decidedly less rigorous and exciting, though some of you may find it challenging enough on its own. You will be entered into the forest lying to the north of Beacon; the Emerald Forest. It is inhabited by many of the lesser subspecies of Grimm— Beowolves, Deathstalkers, and Ursai. These, we have deemed, should be manageable for first-years undergoing initiation—” 

“He calls Deathstalkers _manageable?”_ Someone mutters behind Qrow. 

“—and the exact details of the initiation should be made more clear to you tomorrow morning,” Ozpin continues. “For now, there will be a tour of the Academy, wherein you will learn the grounds of the campus, and be permitted a rocket locker in which you may store your weapon and any personal belongings. Then you will be sent to the ballroom, where temporary sleeping spaces have been arranged for you. After initiation, those of you who are left will be assigned to your teams, and delegated to a dorm room. I wish you all the best of luck. Get a good night’s rest for tomorrow, and listen well to Professor Goodwitch.” 

The crowd erupts into speculative chattering as Ozpin turns and vanishes backstage, and his assistant— Goodwitch— turns the other way, walking down the stairs and calling for the massive crowd to follow her. Privately, Qrow thinks she looks way too young to be an assistant, too— she’s got to be only a couple years older than he is, but whatever. Dismissing the thought, he looks around, searching for one dark head of hair in the crowd. 

“Don’t look so angry, brother. You might frighten all the children here.”  

Her voice is spoken in the shell of his ear, and he jumps, startled, before whipping around to glare at her. “Don’t sneak up on me.” 

She frowns. “This whole initiation ceremony seems rather… foolish, don’t you think? I think the headmaster should simply pick the ones who don’t have their brains in their feet… though to be fair, that seems to be less than half of this room.” 

Qrow scoffs. “Don’t tell me you actually stuck around to listen, Raven.” 

Her eyes burn at him. “I told you I was going to do this wholeheartedly, or not at all.” 

“Fine. Don’t bite my head off, or anything.” He strides off into the crowd that obediently trails Goodwitch— she’s prattling on about the campus’s rich history, or something— and his sister follows him. 

When they get their rocket lockers, they get them right beside each other, and he sneaks a sidelong grin at her as she fiddles with the combination, her brows furrowed in frustration. “Need some help?” 

She scowls at him. “Yes, I can’t work with all the technology as well as you. Very amusing. Now would you just get on with it?”  

“Alright, it’s fine. You didn’t have to scrounge out your life learning stuff as fast as I did to survive on the streets— not your fault, but whatever.” He leans over and fiddles with her combo, punching it in and typing in the affirming ‘click’. “Tribe didn’t work much with technology, did they?”

She’s obviously nettled, her red eyes locked onto him, and her sentence comes out in a sibilant hiss. _“You’re_ the one that left, not I.” 

“I did.” He moves his shoulders in a shrug, but her words hurt him more than he lets on. “But that’s in the past now.” She doesn’t press the argument further, but he can tell she’s still bubbling with resentment over the supposed betrayal of her brother. 

_She's wrong. She didn’t see what I saw… or if she did, she chose to ignore it, and that’s not my fault._

In the ballroom that night, it’s packed with chatter, and Qrow claims a corner near a candle, though he doubts he’ll get a wink of sleep with all these kids going on and on. Someone yells “shut up!” from the western end of the room. The talking abates for a heartbeat before resuming, even more noisily than before, and Raven settles beside him with a soft sigh. 

“You’re not used to this kind of life, are you?” Qrow asks her. “All these people and all this entitlement and fun.” 

She eyes him jealously, her face shadowy in the firelight. “You seem right at home here, brother.” 

He cocks a brow. “No. I’m no less comfortable than you are with these many idiots crammed into a room. Honestly, I hate it. I spent a lot of time alone, Raven. I was always on my own.” 

She turns away, curling up in a little ball of shadow, but he knows she isn’t asleep. Unwilling to press the matter further— Raven’s always been an enigma, and he’s long since accepted the mysterious silence of her ways— he snuffs out the candle, plunging their corner of the room into darkness. But after a long heartbeat, he can hear her whisper, just under the chatter of the room. 

“Your isolation was self imposed.” 

 

* * *

 

In his sleep, an old lullaby from when he was child rings in Qrow’s ears, wearing the voice of his parents, and he tumbles down into nightmares. The words of the lullaby haunts him into the darkness. 

 

_“I know the rain like the clouds know the sky_

_I speak to birds and tell them where to fly._

_I sing the songs that you hear on the breeze_

_I write the names of the rocks and the trees._

_Oh, you fool, there are rules_

_I am coming for you._

_Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins_

_I tried to warn you when you were a child_

_I told you not to get lost in the wild._

_I sent omens and all kinds of signs_

_I taught you melodies, poems, and rhymes_

_Oh, you fool, there are rules_

_I am coming for you_

_You can run but you can't escape…_

_Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins_

_You will open the yawning grave…”_

 

* * *

 

Qrow wakes up, wide-eyed and stiff, to yelling and an authoritative voice rising above the chatter. Raven’s already awake, pulling on her wrist guards and looking distinctly tired, her eyes ringed with blue shadows. As Qrow blinks around the room, getting his bearings, she casts him a sour look. “Excellent,” she tells him, her voice conveying the exact opposite. “You’ve finally woken up. And just in time— the headmaster’s assistant has ordered us to get a move on down the cliffs bordering the northern end of the campus, near the airdocks.” 

Qrow makes sure his dagger is tucked on his hip, and tightens the raggedy red material of his cape around his shoulders. “Any idea what they’re planning for us?” 

“We’ve been accepted,” she points out. “I don’t doubt it’s some convoluted plan to get us assigned a team and a partner, but…” She gives an elegant shrug. “Who can say?” 

Qrow rises to his feet, and sticks out his hand with raised eyebrows to help her to her feet. She scorns the proffered hand and uncurls herself from the ground gracefully, rising up and moving off into the shifting throng of initiates. 

“Typical,” he mutters, before rolling his eyes heavenward and trailing after her. They both weave their way to the front of the crowd, where Goodwitch is scolding a kid who is rumpled from sleep, his hair stuck up all over the place. 

After she’s done yelling, she sweeps one frigid-eyed glance over the waiting crowd before whirling around and stalking from the room. Obediently, they follow after her, clutching an array of gear and weaponry— Qrow can see sensible weapons, sure, but some of the things he sees look ridiculous. An extendable wooden staff with a spear-blade on one end and a _gun_ on the other, a wristbands that bristle with spiky metal knives, a large sword with two guns protruding from either side of the hilt, a whip ribbed with fire Dust, a bow shaped in the curve of a wing, the endings flaring out to resemble feathers, the arrows fashioned in the form of a bird’s beak and glowing with Dust in their points. 

He doesn’t see anything like what he has in mind of what he wants to forge— a greatsword that can change to a scythe with the flash of a button— and he hides a smile. 

“Why are you smiling?” Raven asks him. 

He cocks a brow at his sister. “Nothing, really. Just thinking about things. Are you regretting your decision to come along with me yet?” 

In unison, they both glance to the right as a boy lets out a loud retching noise and suddenly vomits all over the ground, scattering the kids around him like windblown leaves, except with more shrieking and name-calling. Qrow curls his lip, and Raven gives him a cold, tight smile. “Most definitely.” 

The walk to the cliffs is silent from then on. They make it there in less than five minutes. It’s a lonely, wild place, with craggy bluffs and a vast forest of green trees spreading out before them. The trees are already beginning to turn to gold and red as autumn dawns closer, and the coldness in the air only confirms that summer is finally reaching the end of its passage. Qrow stops as the other Beacon initiates fan out in a long line. 

There’s already a solitary figure poised on the edge of the cliffs, straight-backed and elegant, his hair silvery and windblown in the gale. Qrow recognizes it as Ozpin. Autumn leaves chase each other around his feet. As the initiates come to a stop, he turns around, his copper eyes surveying them. “Welcome,” he says. 

A soft murmur of greeting is echoed back to the headmaster, and he nods to the stone squares that lead down to the end of the cliffs. Each of them have some sort of springboard device rigged beneath them, and they are emblazoned with an emblem of crossed axes and laurel wreath. “Please, find yourself a spot on the springboards and have your weapons at the ready as I explain how your initiation will go. I am not one to waste time, so please, make it swift, and we can begin this as soon as possible. Thank you.” 

There’s a mad scrambling for spots on the boards, complete with mild scuffles and name-calling, and Qrow finds himself on one of the stone pads right in front of Ozpin and parallel to his sister. She looks slightly uneasy, and he shares the sentiment. What the hell is their initiation going to be, exactly? 

“Now.” Ozpin casts a glance over all of them. “As I’ve said before, I do not doubt you’ve been exposed to several rumors concerning our initiation process here— each one more wild than the last, I’m sure. I’m afraid it’s not going to live up to some of your expectations—” He looks at the kid who asked him about wrestling a King Taijitu, and the initiate blushes— “but rest assured that it will not be your typical entry-level assessment, either. You were all accepted here because I determined you had what it took to survive this sort of test. Today I will see if my expectations were correct. 

As you know, today you will be receiving your teams, and your partners. Your teams and your partner will be your counterparts for the remainder of your time at Beacon— they will be who you can count on in fight; you will take your classes with them; you will eat with them, sleep in a dorm room with them, and in every way, they will be your family for the duration of your time here. Therefore, it is in your best interests to find someone with whom you can work well.” 

Qrow looks dubiously down the line of initiates, who all seem to have the same thoughts, but Ozpin’s voice catches his attention once more. 

“You may be wondering the exact process of how your teams and partners will be selected: allow me to cease your wonderings. You will be placed in the forest. The first person with whom you make eye contact shall be your partner for the next four years. Furthermore, the next set of partners you run into will make up the remaining members of your team. Once you have your team, you will make your way to the heart of the forest together. This forest is home to many Grimm, so do not expect to go unchallenged on your way. Once you have made it to the forest’s heart, there lies an abandoned temple stocked with chess-pieces that will serve as indications to me that you have completed your objective. After you retrieve a single chess piece, it is your responsibility to make your way back to the base of the cliffs. Is that understood?” 

A chorus of “ _yes, headmaster_ ” rings out from the line of initiates. Qrow shivers in the blustery autumn day, complete with a steel-gray sky and biting wind, and and wishes that he had something a bit warmer than his raggedy gear. 

Well, that settles it. He’s not going to get paired up with some idiot, and he’s not going to get shoved off on a team full of blockheads either. He’ll have to slink around until he finds someone who doesn’t look like a total washout and settle for them. 

“Sir? Professor Ozpin?” Someone asks in a quavering voice. 

“Yes?” 

“Um, how exactly are we going to get down to the forest?”

“You will be launched from the stone pads on which you are currently standing at a rate of over thirty miles per hour,” he announces. “Your Aura will protect you from any serious harm, but it is in your best interest to devise a landing strategy that will keep you intact. This will also allow me to glean your sense of thinking under pressure, and planning to keep yourself safe in the long run… and it will give me a sense of who to appoint as team leaders.” There’s not a trace of humor in his voice, and a low murmur of shock runs through the line as they all realize he’s being completely serious. “Best of luck, and may you all do well.” 

With that, the first stone pad lets out a sharp click, and then with a screech of shock, Qrow watches as an initiate is launched from the cliff and into the air. Another follows, and then another, and then Qrow sees his sister flash him a sharp-toothed grin before she is winging off gracefully into the gray autumn sky.

Then it’s his turn. 

Qrow meets Ozpin’s eyes for a single moment, his gaze narrowing, before he is hurled into the sky like a bullet shot from a gun. 

The air screams in his ears, and his heart thunders in his ears, a deluge of adrenaline firing through his veins. He waits until he’s out of sight of the cliff, and of his fellow initiates, before he shifts midair, the change swallowing him up in a whirl of feathery darkness and spitting him back out in the form of a crow. Cawing triumphantly, he rides the gust of wind that soars through the air, letting himself glide safely down to the forest floor. There, he changes back into Qrow, clutching his dagger and wishing fervently he had a better weapon. 

There is no time to waste— he can hear an Ursa howling in the distance, and gods know what else trampling through the brambles behind him— so he speeds off, keeping one ear open for sounds as he dashes through the brush. After what seems like an eternity of running, he hears a crackle in the trees ahead, and he skids to a stop, before suspiciously making his way forward. 

He sees his sister, and he swears as their eyes meet, red against paler red. 

“Hello, my brother,” she says, not looking at all surprised or displeased. She looks smug, satisfied. “Or, to be more accurate, my partner.” 

“Goddammit,” he snaps to himself. 

“Pity,” she drawls as she takes note of his crestfallen expression. “Because it’s a terrible fate to be partnered to your sister, is that right?” 

“No. I’m just cringing inwardly at the prospect of being forced to have your back and all that sentimental shit for four years.” He lets out a scoff. “Let’s get moving.” 

They both move off into the forest. 

 

* * *

 

After about ten minutes of walking, Qrow can hear yelling and the sounds of thudding impact, followed by an agonized bellow. He charges forward towards the sound, Raven on his heels, and whips his dagger out, and then— as he breaks through the vines and trees of the Emerald Forest— a chaotic sight unfurls before his eyes. 

Two initiates whirl around a Grimm, crying out— not in fear, but in excitement. They are attacking an Ursa, one of the more massive kind. There’s a short girl, wispy and petite, who doesn’t look at though she could hurt a fly, but she’s riding the back of the Ursa and whooping triumphantly as she bashes a long feather-staff over its head. Her eyes are bright silver. Her partner is a tall blonde-haired boy, broad-shouldered and weaponless— 

That’s not quite right. His hands are gleaming with brass knuckles. His eyes spark like blue fire as he hurls himself at the Ursai and taunts it almost playfully, punching it in the jaw and dancing backward, out of its reach. 

Qrow and Raven exchange a glance before they leap into the fray as one, knives and katana flashing. The Ursa bellows in pain, but it doesn’t stand a chance against four, and they all retreat as it dissolves into black smoke. 

“Hey,” the girl greets them, looking exhilarated, her hair windblown and her face flushed. “Tai, our team is all together now!” 

The boy sweeps a nonchalant glance over the twins, giving them both a crooked grin. He’s broad-jawed and his hair is swept back over his head in a messy flare of blonde. He’s good-looking in a rugged, handsome way, Qrow supposes, if you like that sort of thing— but doesn’t like the way his eyes linger a moment too long on Raven. She seems impervious to the appraising look. 

“Hey, there,” he introduces himself, his voice warm. “My name’s Taiyang Xiao Long, but I also go by Tai, if you’d like. This is Summer Rose—”

“But you can call me Summer; I don’t mind,” she interrupts. Her voice is melodic and kind, and Qrow feels himself softening towards her. “I know Summer Rose is a bit of a mouthful—”

“— but it’s no big deal,” Tai finishes for her, blue eyes glittering. He steps forward to shake hands with Qrow. “I didn’t catch your names last night when everyone was getting all gung-ho friendly with each other in the ballroom, but I remember you two well enough— the dark-haired twins, that’s what Summer called you. But what do _you_ want us to call you?” 

“Raven Branwen,” she responds, a note of ice in her voice.

Taiyang grins good-naturedly at her, pushing a hand through his hair. “And your brother?” 

“I’m Qrow Branwen,” he offers, letting out a heavy breath and sheathing his dagger to throw his hands in his pockets. 

“Qrow and Raven,” Taiyang snorts. “You sure it’s the Branwen twins, and not the birdbrain twins?” 

“I bet that’s the wittiest thing you’ve said all week, dirt-for-brains,” Qrow snaps, storming past them, and Summer giggles. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got a relic to find.” 

Raven catches up to him as he takes the lead, and they both exchange a glance, not needing words to voice the thought that passes between them. If these two vapid idiots are their team members, it’s going to be a long four years. 

“So what do you think we’ll be called?” Taiyang wonders aloud. “Like, our team name, I mean. Professor Ozpin decides them. He seems alright, but I wonder…” 

“No idea,” Qrow grunts, flattening a track through a tussock of high grass. “It’s Q, R, S, and T.” Suddenly, a thought occurs to him, and he swears. “Fuck, he’s not going to call us something like Team SQRT, is he?” 

Taiyang chokes out loud. “There is something horrifyingly wrong with you.” 

Qrow can see Raven bite back a smile, which makes him feel a bit less suspicious about this whole thing. “Squirt isn’t a color, Qrow,” Summer reminds him gently.  

Qrow lets the three of them talk and he leads the way through the forest, over bubbling creeks and tangled brambles. There’s not hide nor hair of any more Grimm, and he begins to suspect that Ozpin’s little speech was just for theatrics and flair. 

A glimmer of sunlight on stone catches his eyes, and he pushes through the trees, and is greeted by a buffeting blast of wind. He’s on the edge of a small cliff, and his team fans out behind him as the sight of what lies below spreads out ahead of them in brilliant color. Summer and Tai inhale sharp breaths, and Raven lets out a noncommittal grunt of surprise. 

There is an abandoned temple. It’s still mostly intact, but it’s weathered and old-looking. Lichen and moss coats the pillars, and there are several alters ringing the structure; each one holds a chess piece on the top of it. Each one is black as pitch. 

“So how do we get down there?” Taiyang wonders aloud. “I don’t really fancy our chances trying to climb down this cliff, and while our Aura might keep us from dying, I don’t really want a broken bone today— or ever.” 

Qrow casts a glance at his sister, thinking of the dramatic show he could create by shifting into a crow and soaring down the temple. Besides, he’s never listened to Raven before; why should he do it now? 

She seems to know what he is thinking, because her expression shifts to anger as he grins at her. “Qrow—”

He allows the change to swallow him up and spit him out as a corvid. His bones elongate, melting and shrinking, and his skin prickles and aches before the world blurs before him, and he is standing several feet smaller, three humans looming over him. 

He doesn’t stick around to hear Raven shout at him for being an idiot; enjoying the sputtering shock of Taiyang and Summer, he spreads his wings and glides off the cliff, down to the temple. 

Ten minutes later, Raven, Taiyang, and Summer join him, having traversed the long way around. Raven looks stormy as a thundercloud, Summer looks mildly surprised but happy, and Taiyang is shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “A fucking bird,” he says. “His name’s Qrow and he can change into a fu—”

“Taiyang, please.”

Qrow brandishes the black rook he took from an altar. “I know it must be so interesting to discuss my abilities, but here’s the damn thing we were sent here for, so drop it. I don’t walk about shouting out my semblance for the world to hear, so you shouldn’t, either.” 

Raven shoots him a look that’s sharper than a dagger— they both very well know his semblance isn’t shifting into a crow— but they don’t let Taiyang or Summer know that.

“Well, that’s it; we’ve got our relic,” Raven tells the team. “Now let’s get back to the checkpoint as swiftly as we can. Our objective is fulfilled now.” 

“Don’t you want to explore?” Summer asks her, eyes twinkling like stars. “After all, surely Ozpin can’t fault us for checking out this area.”

Raven’s cold eyes fall upon Summer. “No, I do not. It’s foolish to hang around here longer than we must.” 

Summer’s smile seems to waver and fall from her face. “I— do you not want to be here or something?” 

“I think this is all theatrics and a pointless waste of time.” Raven sheathes her sword, eyeing the relic. “Perhaps it’s fitting for fools, but not for I. We should get assigned our teams and leaders and be done with it, the sooner the better.”  

“Hey, you don’t need to be like that,” Summer tells Raven. “Is this because you’re worried Ozpin is going to see your real skills and that you might not be made the leader? Look, I get you might be disappointed in this whole initiation deal, but believe me, it’s _fine_ if you’re not going to be made the leader. Leadership isn’t for everyone, and not everyone is an excellent fighter… I can tell you and your brother don’t seem really accustomed to how all of this works, but it’s no big deal if you don’t quite understand it yet. Beacon will teach you how to fight and lead well, especially if you can’t do it yet. You seem like an okay fighter, but not everyone can be really strong and special… not everyone is cut out to be really good, you know?” 

Qrow’s eyes widen at that. His sister stiffens at the word _‘strong’._ She sputters, eyes gleaming furious red as if Summer has uttered the vilest of insults— and Qrow knows that, in a way, she has. Then, with a feral snarl, his sister charges at Summer and lifts her hand, her sharp nails flashing brightly in the sunlight as she prepares to rake them over Summer Rose’s face. 

At that exact moment, a blonde streak shoots past Qrow and plows into her, throwing her to the side. They roll end over end, coming to a tumbling stop on the moss several feet away. Taiyang slams Raven’s shoulders into the ground, a terrible growl coming from somewhere deep in his throat. 

“Get off of me!” she spits, thrashing underneath him. “Let me up this instant, you whelp, you idiot! Let me go!”  

Taiyang doesn’t move an inch. His burning blue eyes remain steadily locked on hers. Qrow knows from bitter experience the strength in his sister’s muscles, and he can appreciate how much endurance it must take to keep her pinned there. “Not until I can trust I can do that without you trying to murder one of your teammates.” 

Raven struggles again. “My teammate—”

“We’re all your teammates now whether you like it or not. Capisce?” Taiyang lets out a huff. “Qrow,” he addresses him, without budging an inch to twist around to look at Qrow. “Is Summer okay?” 

Eyebrows raised, Qrow glances at his new teammate. Her silver eyes look stricken, and she’s a bit pale, but she directs a shaky smile in his direction, voice managing to be chipper. “I’m right as rain. She didn’t touch me.” 

Qrow nods, returning the smile reluctantly. “She’s fine,” he tells Tai. “Pretty face unscratched. Way to dash in there, sport. I’m sure you’re her knight in shining armor now.” 

Taiyang visibly sags. “Okay. Brilliant. Perfect. You’re both determined to be sarcastic and bitter at every possible time. Wonderful.” He lets out a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Look,” he continues to Raven— she has stopped thrashing around by now— obviously making an enormous effort to remain calm. “I get that we’ve all got our differences, and it’s stupid to expect them to go away just because we’re teammates now. I don’t know what part of what Summer said offended you, but it did. I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it— misunderstandings are fine— but it’s done with, so just apologize to each other, because if we throw ourselves at each other every time we disagree, we’ll never learn to work together. Got it?” 

Raven goes limp, boneless; Taiyang seems to sense that the fight has drained out of her, because he scrambles to his feet quickly and dusts himself off. Raven gets up on her own, red eyes falling onto Summer, who gazes at her nervously. 

“I’m sorry for offending you,” Summer murmurs. 

Raven’s mouth thins in a stern expression— not angry or displeased, but guarded. “And I apologize for charging you. It was foolish.” 

“And rude,” Qrow chimes in, his voice light. “Don’t forget ‘ _rude’_ too.” 

His sister shoots him a dirty look. “Be silent, Qrow.” 

While they’re apologizing and making an uneasy peace that’s definitely never going to last, Qrow patrols the border, making sure there are no Grimm lurking around. Everything is silent, though, and he makes his way back to the team, still bearing the black rook. “Let’s head back to the cliffs and get this done with.” 

As they move back into the forest, their new truce still heavy in the air between them, Qrow feels— hopeful.

Nothing unfortunate happens to them on that day. 

 

* * *

 

Qrow wakes up to the unmistakable sound of snoring. 

It’s Taiyang. He sounds like some gods-awful mixture between an donkey, gunshots, and a blender— a droning, strangulated sound that makes Qrow want to snap his own neck. Miraculously, Summer and Raven are somehow managing to catch some sleep through the noise, but he can’t. Eyes wide-open, he stares at the ceiling and curses the name of every god he knows before resigning himself to the fact that he’s not going to get back to sleep unless someone punches him unconscious. In fact, he’s half-tempted to do it himself. 

Muttering angrily about blonde idiots, he slides out of bed and drops to the ground, silent as stone. Living on thievery has given him an edge on sneaking around— nevertheless, it doesn’t rest easy on him, all this secrecy. As he pads past Raven’s bed, he half-expects her to snap open her eyes and yell at him, but she doesn’t, and he eases himself out of the dorm as quietly as he can.  

Moonbeams fall across the ground in the hallway, and lush red carpet muffles the sound of his steps. He wanders down the hall like a shadow, relishing in the silence that accompanies his solitude. 

“Mr. Branwen.” 

A sudden voice rings out into the silence, clear and crisp as crystal, and Qrow jumps in shock, whipping around to see Ozpin standing in the middle of the hallway, observing him with raised brows. 

“Godsdammit,” Qrow mutters. 

Unfazed, Ozpin looks at him over the rim of his glasses. “You are, by the rules, technically out after curfew, and thereby going against a very stringent policy of Glynda’s. I would not advise you to be roaming the school after hours, Mr. Branwen. Count yourself lucky that Glynda was not the one to find you first. She is not as lenient in such matters. Why are you out here?” 

“I can’t sleep,” Qrow admits. “Taiyang snores… and I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac.” 

Ozpin smiles, lowering his cane to the ground with a clicking noise. “I see. Believe me, you would not be the first student I’ve caught out in the corridors after hours with a case of insomnia… or teammates who have rather bothersome sleeping habits. I have found that a game of chess has always been particularly useful in clearing intrusive thoughts from one’s mind and lulling it into a calmer state for rest. I don’t mind circumventing the rules in some cases, and I would be lying if I claimed that no student ever broke curfew. Would you care to join me?” 

Qrow shuffles his feet, but he can’t exactly turn down the headmaster without looking like an ass, and this might be a good chance to get on Ozpin’s good side. He’s long since learned that you don’t survive and get ahead of everyone else without tallying up favors and being in good graces with those in authority. “Yeah, I guess.” 

He follows behind Ozpin in silence as he continues down the hall, and then the headmaster launches into what Qrow can already tell will be a long-winded lecture on history, or some shit. “Beacon Academy was constructed many, many years ago, on the principles of courage, duty, and compassion, before you existed. It still holds those morals, and I’m pleased to see that the ambition of Huntsmen and Huntresses world-wide has not waned as the years go by.” 

“And before you were born too, I expect,” Qrow says dryly, trying not to sound disinterested. Normally he wouldn’t care, but there’s something about the headmaster that tells him that being standoffish is a very, very bad idea. To that, Ozpin does not reply. 

They enter the office amid the same emptiness, and it’s quiet, save for the turning of the gears above Qrow’s head. He seats himself as Ozpin pulls out a mahogany chess set from beneath his desk, opening it and removing the pieces— bishops, rooks, pawns— with a few deft flicks of his fingers. “Black or white?” 

“Black.” 

He sets up the black and white pieces. Moonlight sparks off the game board. Qrow narrows his eyes, determined to win, and pulls his chair closer to the table as the headmaster takes his own seat. 

And five minutes later, in less than sixteen moves, Ozpin has him beat. 

“Fuck,” Qrow says as he’s forced to concede. “How long have you been playing chess?” 

That earns him a wan smile. “Far longer than I should be, I assure you.” 

“Huh.” Qrow sits back, folding his arms with a frown flickering across his lips. “Well, chess isn’t really a huge skill anyways. I bet I could beat you in a straight-up fight.” 

Ozpin’s eyebrows slant downward. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. A warrior’s greatest asset is not his strength, or even the weapon he wields— often it is his mind. And while we’re on the subject, Mr. Branwen, do _you_ have your weapon? I remember that you had filled out the box on your transcript requesting one.” 

He shakes his head. “Just a dagger. It’s fine, but I don’t think it’ll carry me through the four years. I asked if I could forge one or something.” 

Ozpin nods. “Yes, you’re correct on that count. A more advanced weapon will help you gain an edge in a fight, and it will hone your skills more than a plain one could ever do. In that case, you can begin forging your weapon tomorrow. Head to the furnaces of metalworking on the fourth level of the school, down the hall and in room 3B. Skip your second period class— I think you are enrolled in Grimm studies for that time, I believe, which from my observations thus far, I believe you have that subject well in hand.” There’s a hidden note in his voice that makes Qrow wonder just how much he knows. “And for now, I will bid you a good night, Mr. Branwen.” 

Qrow finds himself standing outside the door of the office several moments later, looking up at the vast, shadowy ceiling, ribbed with beams, and there’s only one thought in his mind. 

 _I’m screwed._  


* * *

 

Qrow splits from his team as they head for their second block class. Raven gives him a parting glance as Taiyang and Summer, chattering excitedly, drag her off. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look contemptuous or unenthusiastic— her expression is unreadable. He doesn’t stick around to ponder upon it, though. He tosses his dagger into a waste bin and heads for the fourth level of the school. 

 

* * *

 

“Is your task going well, Mr. Branwen?” 

He jumps, the chair clattering as he nearly falls out. “Gods!” 

“No. It’s merely me. I apologize for startling you.” It’s Ozpin, looking grave over the rim of his glasses. There’s a cup in his hand, a chipped white mug bearing the emblem of crossed axes. 

“I know that’s hot chocolate,” Qrow grunts without looking up. Turning around, he casts an accusatory glance at the headmaster. “Also, quit sneaking up on me.” 

Ozpin’s voice holds a trace of amusement. “You and Glynda make up the only two people within the confines of the school who are privy to that knowledge.” 

Qrow turns back to the hunk of metal that will soon be his sword, and begins to hammer at it. Its shape is beginning to take form, slowly but surely, and sparks scatter from the clangs of the hammer. “You don’t need to talk so formally all the time, you know.” 

Ozpin moves to flank his right side, and Qrow stiffens slightly, the even rhythm of the hammer on the metal faltering slightly. “Would you prefer me to fall into a more colloquial manner of communication, like your friend, Tai?” 

Qrow tries to imagine Ozpin’s formal, silvery tones replaces with Tai’s gruff and open words, and fails. “If there’s a hell on this earth, that would be it.” 

Ozpin lets out a laugh. “I didn’t believe so. Formality is always simpler, I’ve found, in the long run… it’s easiest to be straight-up instead of twisting and hiding behind evasions and modern-day words.” He pauses. “Are you getting along well with your team?” 

Qrow weights the merits of lying against honesty, and decides on the latter; Ozpin has a knack for sniffing out lies. A rough laugh forces its way up from his throat. “I’ve been fighting with Raven since we could open our mouths to form words, so no surprise there. Summer is… alright, I guess, but I’ve yet to see her fight… she seems more like an innocent schoolgirl than anything, with that round face and those innocent silver eyes…”

Something in Ozpin’s face flickers, but Qrow puts it down to the shimmer of the firelight on his expression. “She was not admitted to this academy on uncertain terms. You can trust her skill when engaged in combat. And what about the third member? Taiyang?” 

“I don’t like him,” Qrow growls, and the hammer crashes on the metal with vicious force, the muscles in his arm rippling with the movement. Cinders swarm out from the epicenter, and he shakes his head to extinguish them. “I don’t like the way he looks at my sister, I don’t like his holier-than-thou attitude, and I hate that damned _honesty…_ he’s got no clue how the world works, none at all, and it’s going to come back to bite him where it hurts one day.” 

Ozpin is quiet for a heartbeat, and then: “Cynicism does not suit you well.” 

Qrow glances up, taken aback. Ozpin is not looking at him; he stares deep into the heart of the furnace fire, his expression more ancient and full of grief than words can say.  

“You try not being a cynic once you’ve lived my life,” Qrow responds, turning back to his task. 

Ozpin leaves, his pace slowly and unsteady, like he’s bleeding out from an unseen wound— Qrow would know; he’s seen enough people stumbling away in their dying throes from the aftermath of the tribe’s attacks. None of them ever make it far enough to tell the tale of what happened to them. He can see Raven’s eyes, and the red in them is not her irises, but the blood of those they have slaughtered together. It blurs together— the unsteady stride, the blood, the eyes, Ozpin— until he is nearly drowning in memories. 

It’s only when Qrow smells the stench of burning cloth that he realizes the edge of his sleeve has caught on fire from the furnace. 

 

* * *

 

“Holy hell!” Taiyang exclaims as Qrow meets up with his team, where they’re standing by one of the fountains in the courtyard. He is smoldering with fury, one sleeve of his gear cut off, leaving a raggedy hole from which his singed arm protrudes. “What happened to you? Get into a little run-in with a fire Grimm?” 

He laughs at his own joke, and Qrow scowls, hurling the scorched remains of the sleeve at his face. “Shut up, Raggedy-Andy, and go pant after some girl you have no chance with, why don’t you?” For good measure, he lets his eyes flit to his sister, who looks thoroughly entertained by the whole ordeal. 

Taiyang laughs roughly, but his eyes narrow, and Qrow knows he has hit a nerve. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” 

Qrow scowls, tosses his hands into his pockets, and tells him to do something with his body that’s anatomically impossible. Taiyang’s eyes flash and he stands up in one smooth motion. Qrow stares back without a trace of hesitation or fear. The air crackles between them. 

“Sure, I will. And where have _you_ been, Qrow? Chasing after a certain someone, right?” The challenge in his voice is unmistakable. “So you think I’m the freak for going after a couple girls, but you’re off with the hea—”

Qrow shoves Taiyang in the chest with both hands, sending him lurching back. The brawler has always been top-heavy, and the shove sends him toppling into the waters of the fountain, water surging up and soaking him. Taiyang snarls, just as Raven snaps, “Brother, that’s _enough,”_ followed by Summer letting out a startled squeak. They stand up together, and Raven towers over Summer, but they both stare at Taiyang and Qrow angrily. They make such an unlikely pair, the daughter of the tribe and the innocent girl— 

Taiyang comes hurtling out of the fountain in a wave of water and a streak of golden fury, and the force of the punch he throws sends Qrow’s head snapping to the right, his vision breaking apart into jagged flashes of red and black. He goes down, his skull cracking against the pavement, and Taiyang lands right on top of him, shouting something about Qrow being pretentious and deserving every bit of the beating he’s about to get. Fury exploding as his shock finally gives way to retaliation, Qrow flips Taiyang over and strikes him squarely in the nose, rewarded by the crunch of bone and a gush of blood as it breaks. Taiyang retaliates by returning the favor just as savagely. Blood bursts from Qrow’s nose, spraying Taiyang’s shirtfront with scarlet splatters, and then he grabs his arm and snaps it around. Qrow screeches in pain and anger as his bone clashes against its joint, sending burning agony exploding up through his arm— and then he clocks Tai in the eye, a straight punch with all his force behind it, and he knows it’ll bruise later. Taiyang bares his teeth, looking up at him. 

“Don’t you ever say that again,” Qrow snarls. 

Taiyang’s laugh is cruelly amused. “What? You think we all can’t see it whenever you come back from being around him? You think it’s not obvious? Because it _is_ , and you—”

Qrow drives his elbow into Taiyang’s throat, choking the words off with a strangled noise. Taiyang rams his knee straight up into Qrow’s stomach, blasting the breath out of his lungs, before flipping him over and pinning his shoulders to the pavement, fingers digging in viciously. Qrow’s vision goes blurry as his head cracks against the stone once more— now would be a great time, he thinks hazily, for the misfortune to kick in and get Taiyang to magically fall unconscious, or something— but nothing happens to aid him.

And then, someone shouts for them to stop. The voice is familiar, and Qrow’s heart drops all the way to his toes as he makes out Ozpin striding towards them, cane clicking against the pavement, and Glynda is at his heels, looking amazed and stiff with disapproval at the two boys brawling on the ground. 

Taiyang scrambles up, but Qrow lies there, oblivious to his sister’s narrowed gaze on him, and Summer’s wide-eyed worry. 

“Sir,” Taiyang says stiffly. There’s blood running down his noise, and his eye is beginning to blacken; he looks like a bulldozer has run over him. Qrow feels a vicious sort of satisfaction. The idiot’s no longer cocky and handsome, and certainly in no state to be eyeing up his sister.“Sir, I—”

“That’s enough, Mr. Xiao Long. Quite enough out of the both of you. I don’t know why this happened, nor do I need any explanations for it.” Ozpin’s voice is colder than Qrow has ever heard it, before his eyes flick down to him. They’re devoid of any discernible emotion, except one that cuts Qrow to the chest, hurting him far more than any of Taiyang’s taunts: disappointment. “Glynda,” he announces, each word heavy, “go back to my office and make sure there are no students waiting to meet with me, please. I shall take care of this.” 

The assistant scurries off with a nod. 

“Miss Rose, Miss Branwen,” Ozpin continues, looking at them in a more kindly manner, “I would advise you to take Mr. Xiao Long back to your dorm— or, if you feel it necessary, swing by the infirmary.” 

Summer glances at Qrow nervously, and he looks away, scowling, feeling too close and cornered in his stupid school uniform, with one sleeve still singed off. He cradles his arm close to his chest, feeling it ache. It’s sprained, if not broken, and that’s not even accounting for the state of his face right now, with one cheekbone dented and beginning to swell up with a black bruise. “What are you going to do with him, sir?” She asks, her voice quavering. 

Ozpin looks down, back at Qrow. The sunlight forms a soft halo around the silver of his hair, his copper eyes dark. Even with Qrow’s vision blurry with pain, there’s no denying what he sees and the way his heartbeat seems to cease, if only for an instance. “I shall speak with him, and make sure he understands why this behavior isn’t fit for this academy— or, truly, ever. Fighting amongst peers is not something I will permit in my Academy, now or ever, and the rules are most stringent on that policy… but I am sure the four of you were well aware of that before this occurred.” He directs another comforting, patient smile towards Summer, and there’s the headmaster side of him that Qrow knows. “However, I will make sure he is all right before I go about any methods of scolding, Miss Rose. Do not fear about that. The wellbeing of my students is always my priority.”  

“Thank you, sir,” she says, before helping Taiyang hobble off, like some wounded war-hero, and Qrow scowls again. Raven shoots her brother one last look, and Qrow can’t tell what she’s trying to convey, before Ozpin’s hand on his shoulder draws his attention back to the present. 

“Do you need help getting up, Mr. Branwen?” 

Qrow tries to put his arm down to brace himself and rise, but the lightning bolt of pain that jolts up his arm, nearly making him black out, prevents him from doing that. “Yeah, I do. My Aura is shot,” he growls thickly, trying to hide his shame as he wipes a hand over his nose to stifle the flow of blood. “In case you couldn’t tell.” 

Ozpin’s hands loop under his arms, and he helps Qrow stagger to his feet. Qrow shivers, before breaking away and stumbling to a steadier stance. “Thanks.” 

Ozpin nods shortly, gripping his cane. “Come with me to my office, and we shall discuss a few matters that should have been cleared up long before today.” 


	2. ii. turn of the clock

Qrow finds himself sitting in a shitty folding chair across from Ozpin’s desk, anxiety battling with pain as he tries to staunch the ebbing flow of blood from his broken nose. His sleeve is blotched with scarlet now, and he imagines that he looks a wreck: bloody, utterly exhausted, his other sleeve scorched off, and bruised all over. 

Ozpin settles down across from him, clasping his hands together, the tips resting on either side of his chin as he studies Qrow, regarding him through shrewd eyes. “Who started the altercation first? Or, if you count a provocation as sufficient reason, who initiated physical contact?” 

Qrow releases a deep breath, knowing lying will only dig him into a deeper hole. “I did, sir.” 

There is disappointment on his face. “I see. And may I ask why?” 

“He was mouthing off about things he had no right to mouth off about,” Qrow snaps, defensiveness flaring up as they near a subject he has no desire to confront, of Taiyang’s accusation, and of feelings that he does not want to acknowledge or confront— not just yet. “He provoked me— that’s damn well reason enough.” 

Ozpin’s next words take him by surprise. “Do you know why I admitted you into this academy, Mr. Branwen?” 

Qrow simply stares, taken aback. “I— no. What does that have to do with—”

Ozpin continues, as if Qrow hasn’t spoken at all. “I look at every application that passes through my hands thoroughly, and I handpick each student for his or her unique qualities. Mr. Xiao Long was selected for his bravery, courage, and loyalty. Miss Rose was selected for her intelligence, willingness to sacrifice her personal welfare to make peace and happiness, and her compassion. Miss Branwen, your sister, was selected for her strategy, endurance, and as a weight of reason and intellect, because I got the sense that she truly knew how dark Remnant could be, without its guiding lights to balance it out.” 

Qrow runs a hand through his hair— all of that is true about Raven, and he can’t say that he likes that Ozpin knows her so well— before heaving a pained breath. “And mine?” 

“In your application, I saw the desperate worry of a person who was aching to prove himself, one who was lost and needed direction, and one who was worried that his future would never come for him. I saw a Huntsman just waiting to be formed. I saw a soul who was exactly the type of material that this Academy forms into legends.” His copper eyes flash. “Qrow, every team is placed together for precise reasons. In the very rare event that I am forced to alter the members of one, it is for one reason and one reason only: the blood between them is bad, malformed, and it always will be. Some people will never be able to work together; their views are too conflicting. That is just a fact of life. But you and Taiyang have more in common than you may realize just yet. You both have the courage of lions, and you’re both intelligent; it merely takes place in different forms. Beacon Academy is about so much more than just learning to fight and be strong, as your sister seems to think… it’s about learning the value of life, and teamwork, and trust.” Ozpin leans forward. “You will be able to work with them. Taiyang’s optimism may work to balance out your cynicism. Your world-wise views, along with your sister’s, shall bring a realistic approach to Summer and Taiyang’s. And in their turn, they may prove to your sister that Remnant is not the harsh, terrible place you might have been taught that it is. You are not like your teammates; that’s true. But puzzle pieces are not like each other, and yet they still fit together and form a wonderful end product. You can do the same.”  

Qrow hesitates before nodding. “I can see that, sure.” 

“So before you turn to means of violence to enforce your views, perhaps you might take a chance to work with your teammates, instead of battling them on every measure. Without cooperation, Remnant would fall. Remember that. Remnant, and the teams of the academies, are like gears. When they work together, they move forward infinitely, and they keep things running and accomplished with no end in sight. When they work against each other, and struggle to be the one on top, everything ceases, and the smoothness of the operation halts indefinitely. You must learn to work with your team if you ever hope to learn and move forward, Qrow.” 

“So that’s why you have all these huge gears in here,” Qrow comments, glancing upward at the rotating ceiling. “Y’know, I didn’t think it was just a designing choice. They’re hideous.” 

Ozpin smiles, but there’s a note of sadness lingering in it. “I hope that this will have made a few things clearer to you. Now—” He stands up, the chair screeching against the floor— “you should go to the infirmary and get yourself some bandages, and some rest.” 

* * *

   
After that, Qrow puts turning gears into the hilt of his sword to remind him of what he knows he’ll never forget, and makes sure to invest in non-flammable gear. 

 As one final touch, he paints his emblem of the second eye on the base of the sword, following by curls and lines drifting upward towards the point, like smoke of a fire that has just died. 

* * *

 

On one of their off days, when classes have been cancelled, Qrow finds himself passing the time with Summer Rose. 

Summer’s nice. On a good day, he even enjoys her company. She’s not as insufferable as her partner, and the words Ozpin told him about his cynicism balancing out her optimism makes him willing to put up with her constant cheeriness, at least for now. And of course, she’s always willing to put up with his tempest of moods without even a complaint, so he finds himself developing— though he doesn’t dare to admit it— fondness for her. 

They’re outside, circling the school aimlessly to try and memorize the campus better. It’s still a huge, sprawling place with no logical order, and they all find themselves getting lost from time to time. Taiyang and Raven— who have surprisingly been getting along well in the past month— are out in the city, doing whatever a boy like him and girl like her are prone to do, so Qrow and Summer are alone. It’s a rainy day, and they’re forced to stay under the sheltered promenade ringing Beacon’s main building. 

Her eyes match the color of the sky. 

She shivers as a cold gust of wind blasts through the withering trees and buffeting the promenade, flinging a slop of icy rain droplets in their faces. “I’m cold,” she says, and she snuggles closer to him, white cloak flapping against his knee. He casts a nonplussed glance down at her; he’s not really uncomfortable with how touchy-feely she is, but that physical kind of affection is something he and Raven have never shared. It’s strange. Not terrible, but strange. He’s not quite sure how he feels about being loved as a teammate, but it’s not so bad. “I’m glad you only value me as a source of warmth, Summer,” he says, his voice dry. “Maybe you should invest in a coat instead of a cloak thinner than a dead infant.” 

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” she says— she’s still bad at understanding sarcasm, but whatever; they’ve got four years together, and she’ll pick up on it eventually. “You’re my teammate. Of course I value you! I know you act like you’re venomous through and through, but I think you’re sweet, at heart. You’re much kinder than Raven at times… I like her better now, but I know she hated me in the beginning. I think a part of her still does, but we’re so different, so I expected that. She’s just very cut-off and cold… Taiyang sees something in her I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. There’s something nicer about you” 

Qrow pauses, taken aback. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he mutters, and it’s not Summer’s face that he can see, but another’s, flashing in his mind. The girl with the green eye and bleeding— 

He cuts off the thought and represses it for reflection at another time. Summer speaks again. “Well, we’re all here now as a team, so we’ve just got to make the best of it. I think there’s something predetermined about these sorts of unions, don’t you?” Against his side, she shifts around to look up at him, her eyes piercingly silver. “I don’t know. Do you believe in destiny, Qrow?” 

He ponders it for a moment, looking around at the waterlogged campus. Close to them, the Tower stabs a dark spire at the moody sky. Qrow can see a single, solitary figure standing in the window— he recognizes it as Ozpin, one hand on his cane, one palm pressed against the glass, as if confined. He is looking out at the falling rain that sends silver streaks cascading down the windows, like shooting stars, and something about his expression strikes Qrow as being terribly sad. 

“Not anymore,” Qrow tells Summer. 

* * *

  
They’re out in the city on a beautiful autumn day, wandering around with nothing to do except check out the city and the influx of students arriving for the Vytal Tournament. The sky, Summer says, is the color of Taiyang’s eyes, and it is wisped with cirrus clouds. The wind holds a brisk chill, making Qrow’s cape flap madly, and causing Summer’s cloak to billow out behind her like a royal train. 

But it’s a day that Qrow will never forget, because it’s the day his life spins upside down forever. 

Summer is crossing the road when it happens. Taiyang is making a dirty joke and Raven is scolding him for being too inappropriate, and Qrow is rolling his eyes at the three of them. Then the car rounds the corner, coming out of nowhere, barreling straight towards Summer Rose. 

One minute she’s standing on the edge of the road, looking back and laughing. The next, Qrow opens his mouth to tell her to get out of the way, to move— but it’s too late. It comes tearing around the corner and hits her at full-speed. Everything seems to slow down and spin before his eyes, blurring together, and he can see it in broken-up segments— 

Summer looking back at them with wide silver eyes— 

— the blaring of the horn— 

— a scream— 

— screeching wheels and swerving car— 

— the sound of impact— 

— and Summer goes flying, tossed to the edge of the road like a child’s broken toy—  

— there, she collapses in a ball, and does not move again.

Everything begins to spin and blur before Qrow’s eyes, a high keening in his ears, and he cannot breathe as Taiyang hurtles forward and picks her up with a shout of terror, calling her name, but she doesn’t answer and it’s silent and everything has slowed down and his heart is so loud in his ears. 

That’s when he sees the blood, and there is red, red, red all around her. 

It seems like it’s coming from everywhere. Her chest is blotched with a slowly-spreading red stain, and her face is gashed up. Her arm flops to the side at an angle it was never meant to go, and her eyes are not open. The silver light is gone, extinguished to darkness. 

Qrow’s breath is bitten right in half and he chokes on it. Taiyang swears, his face drained of blood, white as snow. Summer lolls in his arms, head flopping to the side. She is as limp as a badly-jointed doll— she already looks dead. “God!” he shouts, his voice strained. _“_ Call an ambulance, for fuck’s sake, _call an ambulance!_ Hurry!” 

Qrow fumbles for his Scroll, his heartbeat strangling him, one thought pulsing sickly in the forefront of his brain: _My fault, my fault, my fault._ He is shaking too badly to punch in the number, so Raven snatches it, smoothly entering the number and speaking for him. 

“Hello? Yes—no, listen, it’s urgent. We have an injured girl on 485 Spiral Boulevard in the city. She got hit by a car just now. She’s bleeding pretty badly from her head and chest… her arm looks like it might be broken, or even her ribs. Gods know about the internal bleeding, but I…” She pauses. “No, you need to hurry. Yes,” and here there is a crack in her voice, “it’s life-threatening. 

Qrow collapses, putting his head in his hands. If Summer dies, he will never, ever forgive himself for it. 

The ambulance shows up minutes later, screeching around the corner in a whirlwind of flashing blue and red and wailing sirens, but it feels too late. The medics confer briefly before loading Summer onto a stretcher, taking care not to jostle her head or chest, which is more red than white now. Qrow sees them hooking tubes up to her, hears someone say the word ‘coma’, and bile surges in his throat. 

He feels like he’s going to vomit. 

Taiyang forces his way into the ambulance, refusing to leave his partner’s side, and Raven hovers, torn, between the ambulance and her brother. Her red eyes find his, and her expression hits him in the lungs like a straight punch, forcing every bit of air out of him. He can’t breathe. Everything is spinning. Everything is fucked over and it’s all his fault. 

 _You couldn’t just keep your bad luck to yourself,_ her accusing gaze seems to say. 

He meets her eyes before a wave of guilt overwhelms him. He whips around and then he’s off like a shot, running so fast that the buildings blur into gray and black, taking his misfortune and curse with him, and enough self-loathing to fill an ocean. 

 _Got to get away. Got to get out of here._ His breath rasps heavy in his lungs as he tears down a side street, swerves into an alley, and finds himself on a broken-down stretch of beach and ocean with one solitary, broken dock stretching into the water. He goes beneath it, desperate to hide, but from what, he cannot say. 

Under the dock, he collapses, curling in on himself, his fingers biting into his shoulders as he shudders. The sound of the tide whispers in the distance, slapping and crashing against the shore. As he sits there, shattering, his Scroll buzzes. Dully, he picks it up. It’s Raven, and her picture bounces around the screen almost mockingly. 

 _Come back to Beacon, Qrow,_ she has messaged him. _You have a duty._

He stares at as if it’s a poisonous snake, before recoiling as another message comes through, longer this time. 

_You’ve spent all your life running away, but that ends here. They won’t think it’s your fault, but we know the truth. Come back and own up to it._

So he stands up, and he is numb and everything inside of him is twisted into knots, but a sickening clarity fills his veins like icewater. He is not one to flinch away from paths that wind long and dark. 

Qrow dusts himself off, shuts down every emotion, tucks away the flares of misfortune like shadows in his chest, and begins to head back to Beacon.

* * *

   
His sister’s voice: 

_“Oh, you fool, there are rules_

_I am coming for you_

_You can run but you can't escape._

_Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins_

_You will open the yawning grave…”_

* * *

 

That night, Summer is brought back from the hospital, stabilized with a mixture of Aura and bandages. Her chest is wrapped up, her eyes still closed, her arm shattered, ribs mangled up in a way they were never supposed to go. She escaped death by the fraction of a hair. 

He thinks of his team altogether. He thinks of her, silver eyes like starlight, her hair swirling like storm clouds.  Taiyang moving like lightning in the midst of battle, hurtling from the shadows with a roar fit for a lion. His sister moving in the background, sheltered in shadow, her grin crooked. Ozpin’s copper eyes, turned grey in the light of the rain. 

Qrow leaves the dorm room as silently as a shadow. He leaves behind his sword, his name, and his everything except one thing that will not leave him, and his semblance haunts his footsteps like a shadow.  

Qrow lets go. 

* * *

  
He stands on the roof of Beacon Tower, at the very brink of it, and he looks down. He’s alone, save for the stars twinkling overhead, and the broken moon. Wind caresses him. Way down below, the trees rustle in the wind, and lights twinkle and shine, trapped in the splashing depths of the fountains. 

He is so high up, but he’s never been scared of heights, not with his wings. The heavens shift overhead, like a hand has swept him up and freed him among the countless white lights, and he balances at the edge, looking down. Wind whistles in the air. It’s so strong that it threatens to unbalance him, to send him plunging headlong over the side. He doesn’t feel sad, oddly enough, which confuses him. Shouldn’t one feel sad at a time like this? The only emotion he can summon up from the recesses of his mind is a regretful sort of a numbness, one that floods his veins in a deep chill, locking his heart in icy certainty as he gazes out into the empty, uncaring night. 

The way down is so far. 

His arms are thrown out to either side of him, and he balances at the brink, toes just going over, like a trapeze artist about to plunge over the side. Here, misfortune can touch no one but him, and perhaps that’s for the best. He is turning a page on a world he doesn’t need, and a world that certainly does not need him. He is terrified— not of flying, but of falling. 

He wavers on the edge. _This is it, Qrow,_ he thinks, with a detached amusement. _This is the finale, the one thing you can’t retract. Any last words?_

His mind is empty, like static, nameless stars swimming in the darkness. He takes a deep breath, filled with one final goodbye towards it all— his body, the life he’s led. A terrible life, one filled with pain, misfortune, and strife, but a life lived, nonetheless… and now, at least, he’s subtracting himself from the equation. Negating the bad luck that haunts him like a shadow. Making life better, if he’s not in it anymore, because he’s not just a burden— he’s a burden that brings down his weight on everyone around him. 

Several pairs of eyes flash behind his own. The frightened green eyes of the girl who he saw die, the girl he did not save from the wrath of the tribe. The warm silver eyes of Summer Rose. His own sister’s eyes, the color of blood surging out from a new wound. The steady copper eyes of— 

He can’t finish the thought, or maybe he refuses to do it. 

Qrow lets himself lean forward, that one last, fatal inch, and he plummets over the edge, and down to one final ending that is rushing up towards him. 

He falls, spinning like a star flung out of orbit, and the wind is a living creature, clawing at his skin and tearing at his hair as it hurls him downward. He is tongue of shadow and hellish terror shot from the heavens. Starry skies and gray pavement tumble in and out of his vision in a terrifying blur, and his numbness begins to shatter, crack, giving way to fear and he is— he is falling oh _gods_ and he can’t fly and his wings are frozen and he’s petrified and the ground is— 

Qrow smashes into solidity. 

_Pain._

Light flashes behind his eyes in jagged blurs of lightning, a myriad of tangled lights and red red red around him— 

— a flash of— 

— someone is screaming. He opens his mouth before he realizes the scream is coming from him, a strangled, horrible sound— 

— a flash of green— 

— a body, running, blurred and desperate— 

— hundreds of forms, separating, all identical, time splitting up into thousands of shards— 

— the flash—  

— and Ozpin is all around him, surrounding him, one hand looped under his back and the other holding him up. There’s something wet in Qrow’s mouth and on his face, drowning him, and then he tastes salt, and he knows it is blood— his blood.

He is broken. Agony keens a red-hot song in his ears, and darkness crumbles the edges of his vision. He is shattered and broken, a bird with its wings torn off. 

He will never fly again.

Ozpin’s face whirls over his, blurring and shifting, and his copper eyes— so guarded, so unreadable— have cracked wide open to reveal fear; they are wide pools of anguish, thousands of year’s worth of agony and pain. 

“Qrow,” he says, his voice strained and strange and terrible, a note of desperation in it that Qrow never imagined the headmaster could feel. Tonight is a night full of firsts. “Qrow, don’t close your eyes. Don’t leave, _please_ —”

“I guess bad luck can prevent me from dying, too,” Qrow manages. He feels twisted, knotted up, his body at angles it was never meant to go, and blood runs into his eyes, stealing his vision away from him. “But it can’t protect me from the impact of falling.” 

The darkness claims him, and he welcomes it, plummeting into the void. He swears he can hear a strain of piano music in his ears and Ozpin crying out his name a single time before everything has faded away to a misty gray blur. 

* * *

 

He wakes up to fire.

There is smoke in his lungs, embers tumbling down his throat, flames scorching his stomach. He jackknifes to his knees, coughing so hard that he is sure that he’s going to hack up a lung, or something worse, and then there’s a hand on his cheek, cool and dry as paper. The fire swirls around him, crackling higher and higher, and he’s a pillar of flame, like a verse from the Bible. 

Someone presses the rim of a cup to his lips and he grips it, tilting it back. The liquid inside is water, cold and clear, and it courses down his throat, easing the flames and extinguishing the smoke. His eyes are still streaming, his chest aching as though a Beowolf is sitting on it— but for the moment, he can breathe, and that is enough. He can feel the absence of the wetness of the blood, and the terrible sting of his injuries has given way to a dull throb. Someone has cleaned up his wounds, disinfected them, bandaged them, and brought him here. The blood is gone, save for one streak of rusty red spotting his hand that they failed to see. 

There’s a figure seated across from him, and it takes a moment for his eyes to focus around the blurry halo of sunlight that bathes them, squeezing one golden finger through the high windows and turning them all to gold. It’s not Summer, not his sister, not Taiyang— he’s wrecked, but he’s still alive enough to squeeze out a pang of relief at that. The last thing he wants right now is to see his team. 

It’s Ozpin. He looks drawn and old, the shadows under his eyes very pronounced, like a smear of charcoal, and his copper eyes rest on Qrow with a dull, foggy exhaustion, before some of the clouds clear away, like the sun shining feebly through the gaps in the clouds. “You’re awake,” he says, and there is a dark note in his voice that makes the sunlight waver a bit. “How do you feel, Qrow?” 

Qrow lets out a deep breath, his lungs expanding and deflating with another ache of pain. Remembering the night this happened hurts too much— why he did it— so he lets numbness course through his veins and enter his voice.“Like a Griffon picked me up and smashed me through a glass window, then did it again.” 

“That’s a shockingly similar description to what happened to you.” Ozpin’s voice has a spark of anger, just waiting to ignite. “What in the name of the gods were you thinking? _Nothing_ is worth what you attempted to do— nothing at all. Life is a precious gift, and it always will be, and there are many who don’t know what they have until they lost it. I will not let you be one of those people, Qrow. You could have been crippled— you could have been killed, as easily as snuffing out a flame. Remnant needs its fire to survive, and you burn bright. Don’t turn yourself into an extinguished flame because the path you tread is one beset by thorns and pitfalls, and the way is hard.”  

Looking at Ozpin is like staring directly into the sun; it’s blinding, and he can’t bring himself to do it. Qrow looks away, feeling exhausted and too alive with emotions; he wants a whiskey, anything to dim them. He’s not legal, not for drinking, but you can get drunk underage in the city of Vale as easily as breathing, as long as you’ve got enough cash and a lax-enough bartender. “You don’t know me at all.” The old scar on his chest burns as though it’s alive with fire, rippling through his veins, and the new scars prickle all along his skin. “I’m not some innocent little Huntsman apprentice with some issues and surface scars. I’m more fucked-up than you’ll ever know, could ever _hope_ to know, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” His voice is embedded with a snarl. “You shouldn’t have saved me. The world, my team, would have been better off if you just let me finished what I started. You would be better off, too, if you had never decided to take pity on everything that’s been set in motion far before you ever knew me!” 

Ozpin’s up and out of his chair in one heartbeat and the next, Qrow is sprawled forward in the cot, his head ringing from the blow. He brings one hand up to his cheek in disbelief, feeling the red blush of blood that comes to the surface from the strike. Ozpin looks like a lion in the sunlight, his copper eyes shot through with gold, like colored dye pluming out through water, his face drawn in a furious look Qrow doubts he’s even aware of. 

“Foolish.” Ozpin’s voice is so soft Qrow almost misses it. “You coward. You damned coward. I never save anyone I don’t mean to. Even if you’re lost, even if you lose yourself still, what gives you any sort of right to take away the choice from those who would save you? I did what I meant to do. Regardless of the past, regardless of those you lose. If it wasn’t for your Aura, and for a lifetime’s worth of healing skills, you would be dead.”  A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You would be—”

Qrow collapses against the pillows, feeling bone-achingly weary. “I’d be dead, and Remnant would’ve lost one more bad luck charm, that’s all.” It’s spoken lightly enough, but the pain beneath his words clearly cuts Ozpin to the bone; the headmaster jerks, as if stricken. 

“Nothing is worth throwing your life away,” he repeats, numbly, blindly. 

Qrow moves his hands, not willing to meet Ozpin’s searching eyes. The veins and lines of muscles show under the corded scars of his skin. He should be gone by now, but he’s not. It’s the second time Ozpin has reeled him back into reality. He’s not entirely sure whether that’s a good or bad thing. 

The bed dips at the edge as Ozpin sits down, creaking loudly. Qrow jerks, startled, as another hand lays over his own— one that’s lighter-skinned, but still just as scarred. A ropy scar snakes across the back of his hand, jagged and uneven, disappearing around the curve of his palm. Qrow wonders what it’s from. 

“I’m not so broken you need to hold my hand, you know,” Qrow says. He can feel his heart— traitorous, he thinks— slamming at his ribcage, at his throat. “I doubt I could move my pinky-finger like this, let alone go throwing myself off a battlement again.” 

Ozpin’s expression is not defensive, or even thoughtful; it’s simply sad, and Qrow feels a flicker of guilt. “You should go,” Qrow tells him. “Leastways, if I’m alone, the only one who gets knocked up by bad luck is me.” 

The edge of Ozpin’s mouth curls in a smile. “That is a terribly inaccurate summation of a semblance’s effects on other people,” he says, before he falls quiet, and silence reigns over the room once more. Qrow focuses his attention on his body. Bruises blossom all over his arms. He aches in every inch of his bones, a pain so constant that it fades to a background hum. There’s a sharp, stabbing ache in his shoulder and the joint of his knee— probably the points of initial impact. His Aura might have saved his life, but it doesn’t erase pain. 

“I have a feeling there’s so much more behind this than some simple sorrow.” Suddenly, Ozpin’s fingers are under his chin, forcing Qrow to lift his gaze up, to look into the sun even though it might end up hurting him. “Qrow. I used my semblance to save your life. It cost me very little, but with the fraction of a second’s span of time, it might have cost you everything, if I had not gotten there. Tell me why you jumped off the edge of the Tower.” His eyes burn, copper to fire. “Tell me why you thought it was necessary to _end your life.”_

Qrow moves his head away and cold rushes over the spot where Ozpin’s fingers withdraw. “It’s not a nice tale, and I don’t see why you need to know. I never told my team, and you’re always going on about trusting them and crap, so what makes you think—?” 

“Perhaps because I am not your family.” Ozpin looks withdrawn and exhausted, deep lines cut in the space between his brows, his eyes ageless. “Remembrance of one’s sufferings can be a terrible burden. I would know it better than anyone… memories are like weights, and if you do not unload them every once in a while, they will crush you.” 

Qrow lets out a deep breath, something in his heart loosening and flying far, far away from him, the memory of free-falling escaping his chest and hanging heavy in the air around them. Starlight seems to spark between their points of contact, and Qrow imagines how absurd they must look to anyone else: the boy with broken eyes and crippled wings, held subservient by the one with eyes the color of newly-minted copper. 

“I was born to a tribe.” 

The words are out before Qrow can stop them, and then more follow, gushing out like water surging from a shattered dam. “I was born to the tribe, Oz. _A_ tribe— composed of bandits and rogues, exiled from the kingdoms. One of the ones that roam Anima and Sanus and all the others… killing, murdering, salvaging and thieving… allies to the Grimm. Their main law is that the strong survive and the weak deserve to die… that was what I was raised on, all my life, if that explains anything. They took any means to survive and become strong, flouting the codes of morality, diluting the mere idea of ethics that were decreed at the dawn of time. They embraced anything and everything to strengthen them, even if it was pure evil… and they raised Raven and I.” 

Ozpin’s expression is unreadable, but he sits a little straighter, the perfect picture of a headmaster listening to another’s story. “And what of your parents?” 

“Raven and I are orphaned, now. We have been for some time. My parents died in one of the more vicious raids, on a larger village… the tribe lost many members that day. The village was more prepared for a fight than they had expected, and the battle raged on for hours— that was plenty of time for the Grimm to flock to the place where blood was spilled. And it’s the place they died… the place I lost myself and my sister forever.” His eyes mist over. 

“Raven changed after this battle,” Ozpin guessed. 

“Yes.” Qrow inhales a jerky breath. “She didn’t see them die. But she saw the bloodshed, and it altered her.” 

“How did this come to pass? The death of your tribe members, and your parents?” 

“There was… the mayor of the village they attacked had just begin stabbed through the throat by the tribe’s leader. The Grimm poured in after the mayor died… negative emotions were running at a high, you understand; the tribe was furious that the village was putting up such a fight, and the village was enraged at the attack… and the Grimm started going after everyone. It was a mixture of them— pests like Creeps and Boarbatusks, but then you had the bigger Grimm come crawling in like carrion creatures, feasting off the blood. Beowolves and Ursai, Griffons… and the Nevermores.” 

“The raven Grimm,” Ozpin says softly, a flicker of pity in those damned copper eyes. “Like your sister.” 

“I—I was only ten. I saw it all.” His hands knot in the bedsheets, and the memory flashes on the backs of his eyelids. “I saw them. I saw the Nevermore kill my father with one hit and eat him. I saw it slash open my mother’s throat. She fell, screaming. Her blood was everywhere. And every day I wonder if that Grimm would have missed them, would have picked someone else, had I not been there.” 

“Qrow—”

“I learned a lesson that day.” He tastes bile in the back of his mouth. “That sometimes, you lose the ones you love, even when they’re standing right in front of you, and there is not a _damned thing on this earth_ that you can do about it, do you understand?” 

Ozpin’s expression saddens. “Forgive me for being so blind,” he says, but with a jerky breath, Qrow goes on. 

“Raven never saw any of the deaths as something to be despised, never saw them as horrifically as I did… she saw exactly as the tribe did. That death was necessary, if it strengthened the tribe. The battles weeded out the weak, she argued. If our parents had been weak, then the battle had only done what nature decreed it to do. I…” Qrow’s jaw clenches as his voice wavers, and he takes a moment to control himself before speaking again, his tone level. “I’ve always wondered why. Why she’s different. Why she never saw the darkness in them. Some people believe when we’re born, we all have clean slate… I don’t think I believe that anymore. Destiny will have its ways. We can tend towards dark or light, we can change the choices we make, but ultimately, we cannot alter who we are at our cores. Raven will always be selfish. I will always be haunted. You…” Qrow breaks off his sentence. “You always be whatever you are, I guess. 

“The final straw was when they captured and kept one girl from a village that they burned to the ground. She was… oh, I don’t know. Maybe twelve, maybe younger… but she was too young for what they did to her. The leader of the tribe didn’t _encourage_ torture, but if it happened, nobody was punished for doing it. It was a practice that was kept quiet… and if members wanted to do it, nobody stopped them, so it just continued on and on and never ended. The girl was kept by two members of the tribe, lower-ranking ones who wanted to beat up someone who couldn’t fight back. They would torture her for days. Taking an eye on one day, a couple fingers on the next, mocking her uselessness and how powerless she was… they never fed her, never gave her water. They kept asking her the same question: _who is the Master?_ I think they were trying to make her submit her will to them, so they could shape her into whatever they wanted before breaking her entirely. But she wouldn’t give in. Not even after they blinded her completely, and cut off all her fingers, and sliced her up with their knives so much she looked like a net. Her…” Qrow’s stomach surges with nausea again. “Her… she had a bright little skirt. It was torn… I think it was yellow. I— I can’t remember.” 

That’s a lie. He remembers everything. 

Ozpin’s face is full of sickened nausea, and Qrow wishes he could take it all back, but if he doesn’t tell this to someone, he thinks he might just explode from keeping it bottled up inside of him. 

“Her skirt was torn,” he repeats numbly, “and they… they must have had their pleasure with her, used her like trash, before throwing her away.” 

Ozpin turns his face away, but his eyes are dark like storm-clouds with horror and sickened disgust. 

“She was only twelve years old,” Qrow growls. “She had dark hair and green eyes… and I watched them beat her, blind her, have their way with her, and then kill her without doing a godsdamned thing to stop it.” 

There is a long silence filled with jagged edges and windblown memories. 

“My gods,” he manages at last, his voice shattered. “I’m a coward. I’m a damned coward.” 

“Qrow,” Ozpin says, a pitying breath of noise, and that’s when Qrow breaks, and Ozpin is there, steadying him as he collapses forward, emotions bursting out like a dam finally breaking its banks. “Qrow, I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going to leave.” 

Qrow holds onto him, awful, choked sobs torn out of his throat as the faces of those he has lost and those who he hasn’t lost yet swim behind his eyes. His fingers are digging into the steadiness of Ozpin’s shoulders, and he’s crying, awful tears wrenched out from a place he never even knew existed inside of him. A place that has no family, has no sister, has no love, and one that cries out for the life that was stolen from him. 

“I left,” he chokes out into Ozpin’s shoulder. “As soon as I could do it, I grabbed a knife and some supplies and I started running, and I never looked back. Not once. Every night I wondered if they were pursuing me, wondered if my sister was being punished because I deserted them… gods, I wondered if they punished my sister in the same way they punished that little girl. But I still didn’t turn back, because I was too much of a coward to do it. I scrounged out a life in the streets… I never stayed anywhere long, because something would always happen. A kid would fall into a river and almost drown because I was nearby. I’d be hiding in an alley by some restaurant, and it would catch on fire— nobody survived. Sometimes my misfortunes would be little things, punishments visited on someone else. They’d lose their wallet, they’d step on a piece of broken glass, they’d end up tripping and falling into a puddle. Or bigger things. A kid would walk by me and then get hit by a car a second later. A woman would try to phone the police on me because I was pawing through her trash, searching for something after days on end with nothing to eat, and then the very next day, a falling tree would crush her house and kill her… and then you saw, a couple nights ago. Summer got hit by that car. She damn near died, and it was all my fault… Raven knew it; I knew it.” His voice screws up into fever pitch. “And what if next time, she does die? Or Taiyang? Or my _sister?_ What if I end up killing someone I care about, just because I was _there?_

“So last night I finally figured— what the hell kind of a life is that? Where I can’t be around anybody, not even the ones I love, because they’ll just get hurt? And if I isolate myself every single day out of fear that I’ll end up hurting someone else, I’ll waste away to a shadow… that’s no life to live, Oz. Not at all.” He closes his eyes. He can feel the wind— rushing and alive— and the night sky— cold and empty— and he almost feels like he’s plunging back into the abyss.  

“So I jumped,” he finishes. “I jumped. And you should’ve let me finish what I started.” 

Behind them, a glass falls from a shelf and shatters on the stone floor in a thousand glittering shards. Qrow feels his chest flare with anger as his semblance reacts to the emotions churning in his gut. Ozpin flinches a startled look for only a fraction of a second, but Qrow catches it regardless, and it makes his stomach twist. Ozpin rises, walking to the broken glass, and begins to brush it up off the floor into his cupped palms. Qrow wonders why he’s not taking more care not to cut himself on the jagged shards, but then he reminds himself he doesn’t care. His hand savagely twists on his knee, bringing another self-inflicted injury to the surface. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all. 

Ozpin lets out a quiet sigh as he carries the broken glass to the trash and lets the powdered remnants of it fall within the bin. “Qrow,” he says. “I think this is all a matter of perception. Nobody wants to be a burden, but nobody on this world is unbroken. We are all smudged or shattered in some fashion— some more than others. I would advise you to remember that— despite however firmly you believe that you are cursed— you have four people who care very much for you. Four people who would, believe me, be far more hurt by your death than by whatever misfortune you may bring upon them.” 

“Yeah, and who’s that?” 

“Summer, Raven, and Taiyang would all be hurt by your death, Qrow. Despite what you may think, that’s a scar they would never recover from.” 

Something sick inside of Qrow dares him to ask a question, just to see if he can handle it. “That’s only three people.” 

Ozpin turns away, his hair falling over his eyes. His expression is wiped clean. “I… I suppose you could count me as the fourth, then.” 

Qrow sits up a little bit straighter, the pillows sinking back. A note of clear incredulity rings in his voice. “You’d be hurt if I died?” 

“Yes.” Ozpin’s stature is straight-backed and unmoving, but his hands are balled in fists at his sides, trembling slightly. “I would.” 

Qrow doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything, but the faintest of smiles crosses his lips. Ozpin begins to leave the room, but he looks back as he departs, his face a sliver of silver light in the ajar door. He says only one thing before he leaves, his voice quiet with certainty. 

“You’re stronger than you think.” 

* * *

 

Hours later, the world outside his window is drenched in shadows, spattered with stars. He has been sitting here in solitude for a while now, but Ozpin’s presence still hangs heavy in the air, like a palpable ghost. 

Sinking into the pillows, Qrow lets out a sigh, something in his heart loosening and letting him take a breath without feeling like he’s drowning. His bruises and wounds prickle with pain, but it’s a good pain— one that promises healing. Numbly, he stares at the long-healed slashes striping the backs of his wrists, pale tally-marks of each time he’s lost to his own demons— some of them long-healed, some fresher. But he has to be stronger now. If not for him, then for the ones he cares for. In some stupid way, he’s glad to have the scars, if only to remind him not to be so stupid again. 

He reaches over, static pain buzzing at his temples, and flicks off the steadily-burning lamp by his cot, plunging him into a deafening silence, void of moonlight or warmth. He’s utterly alone, and for a moment, it feels like he’s back at the top of the Tower, wrestling with that one choice. “Lights out,” he tells himself miserably. That night, he has his worst dream yet. 

_He finds himself lost in a forest of mist and shadows, and a faint light shines far ahead of him, rays of amber piercing the pall of fog. It feels sinister, and it seeps through the boles of the trees like amber that traps and kills._

_He tries to run, but vines snake out of the ground, tendrils of darkness clinging to his skin in agonizing barbs. He thrashes, caught in their clinging embrace, and roars in fury as the light explodes from the forest around him and turns everything gold, blazing up like the brilliance of the sun. His sword is not by his side, and he’s helplessly subservient to something more powerful than him— once again._

_Silver eyes flash in the dark and he—_

_—_ jerks awake with a gasp, only to blink in shock as he realizes he isn’t alone in the infirmary. 

Four pairs of eyes rest on him in guarded concern, blankness, sorrow, and worry. As he shakes away the last clinging cobwebs of sleep, adjusting to the bright, warm light pouring through the propped-open window, the one with the worried eyes gasps and throws herself at him— albeit very gently, considering she’s still bandaged up, her arm in a cast. 

“Summer,” Qrow says, his voice rasping in a wheeze as her elbow prods his chest, sending burning agony racing through him. “I’m so sorry.” 

She scrambles off of him with a hushed apology, and apparently the concept of privacy doesn’t exist in her mind, because she says— right there in front of Ozpin, Taiyang, and Raven— “Qrow, you know I don’t blame you, right?” 

Qrow blinks up at her. “What?” 

Raven’s cheeks hollow out. “I told them about your semblance. I figured it was about time, brother, considering you decided to splatter-paint yourself on the courtyard.” Her eyes are flickering with a stricken-sort of expression, and for the first time, Qrow wonders what he means to his sister, wonders how much his death would hurt her. The death of her mercy died along with their parents— he can’t imagine what his own would do, and shame fills him that he’s only just now considering it. They’ve always had a screwed-up sort of relationship, surviving solely on insults and bickering to outsmart and outpace each other, but without that conflict, a part of himself would disappear. He can’t really say he _loves_ her like he should, but she is his family, and against all odds, she chose to come here with him. Shouldn’t that count for something? 

“Idiot,” Taiyang mutters, jamming his hands in his pockets. Ozpin meets Qrow’s eyes over the heads of his team. There’s a warning in them, but Qrow can’t say anything before the headmaster turns and departs the room with barely a whisper.  

Summer and Raven both look at Qrow guardedly, but it’s Taiyang who speaks next, stepping forwards to the edge of the cot and clearing his throat. There are gray crescents of exhaustion under his eyes that no amount of his rugged handsomeness can make look good. “I’m glad you’re okay, Qrow.” 

Qrow levels him with a look. “I thought you hated me,” he replies, his voice blunt. “So that all changes now— what, because you feel guilty? Nothing has changed. Hell, I almost got your partner killed.” 

Summer lets out a noise of protest, but Taiyang frowns. “You’re my teammate,” he says simply, as if that explains it all. Maybe it does. “I can’t pretend that I’ve always liked you. But I don’t want you dead. I can’t convince you that it wasn’t your fault, but it doesn’t matter if it was or not. We can’t blame you for having a shitty semblance. You were born with it and that’s all there is to it.” 

When Taiyang leans down to hug him, Qrow hesitates, but he returns it. He thinks of where he would be now without Ozpin’s intervention, and the breath is sucked out of his lungs in regret. He was drowning, then, when he flung himself off the Tower, but now… he’s still alive. He’s here now. As Taiyang pulls away, and Qrow’s team— his family— smile down at him, with measures of trust, gentleness, and even tenderness, he feels like he might be capable of holding his head above the water. 

* * *

After that, he develops a bitterly sharp sense of irony and humor. It helps to shield the truth, after all— and if people don’t know the truth, they can’t hurt you. The part of him that begins to flirt with other people relentlessly, despite feeling no interest in them, develops for a similar reason: if you mess with other people’s minds and composure, they can’t make yours falter, either. And as for the drinking… that’s all too obvious. Drinks are the only thing that can numb his sense of sorrow and guilt over the things he can’t help but cause, and he stops worrying about the people he hurts with his semblance. Everyone gets hurt in the end. He’s only hurrying the process along, after all. The Qrow that once ran away from the tribe, pursuing a foolish dream of a better, heroic life died the moment he hit the ground. He’s lost himself, and someone new has taken his place. 

But the old him had no one and nothing, and was lost in shadows. Now, he has a family, and a home. And even if his dreams have changed, they haven’t died. He can still help the world. He’ll just have to fix his own mistakes first, that’s all. 

Things will all be okay. 


	3. iii. misfortune and time

The Vytal Festival rushes upon them as the penultimate event to their second year at Beacon. They’re all over eighteen now, and yet the tournament has them all excited as children. This is their chance to shine.   
****

“It’s _got_ to be Qrow,” Taiyang says, one night when they’re lounging around the dorm room, plotting out tactics in a half-hearted manner. “He goes in. We win our team round. We send him onto doubles. He whoops ass there. Then, singles. His _semblance_ whoops ass— and we’re home free.” 

“It doesn’t quite work like that,” Raven says. “Anyways, aren’t you presuming a lot, regardless, to assume we’ll automatically move on to the singles and doubles rounds?” 

“Positivity, Raven!” Summer urges her. “Think optimistic.” 

“Right,” she says dryly. “I’m very optimistic. Absolutely.” 

Qrow swings himself off his bed. “Delightful as it’s been to be discussed, I’m out of here.” 

“Don’t go to a bar!” Taiyang calls after him as he slams the door. “I’m not getting another demerit because you keep drinking shitty vodka!” 

Qrow sends back a gesture that heavily relies on his middle finger, expertly slams the door with a flip of his wrist, and promptly runs into a certain someone, almost knocking him right back on his ass. 

It’s Ozpin. He stares at Qrow, one brow arched, his cane gripped in his other hand. Qrow rubs his head resentfully, making his hair stick up in spikes. “For fuck’s sake,” he complains, drawing back. “Do you just always wander the halls cryptically?” 

“Ah, Mr. Branwen,” Ozpin says, not at all deterred by his complaints. “I was looking for you.” 

Qrow’s eyebrows knit together. “ _Mr. Branwen?”_

“Is there something wrong with that?” 

“I thought we’d kind of, you know, moved past the formalities after you saved me from splattering myself onto your courtyard.” The words are intended to sound sharp, scathing, but his voice cracks a bit at the end and ruins it all. 

“I see. What, perhaps, did you suppose we had moved past, and onward to what?” Ozpin’s eyes are piercing and Qrow looks away. 

“Nothing. What did you want, anyways?” 

“To extend an invitation.” Ozpin tilts his head, eyes flicking back to the dorm’s door. “Are you currently busy?” 

“No,” he grumbles. “I was going to go try to threaten a drink out of some idiot bartender, but now that you’re here, I think there’s little chance of me actually doing so. What invitation?” 

“I think you could stand to wait and see.” He tosses his hair back in a gesture that indicates Qrow should follow him. “Come, let’s go.”

* * *

“Let’s get this straight. You want me to spar with you?” Qrow lets out a spurt of harsh laughter. “What are you gonna do, beat me with your cane?” 

“Something like that.” Ozpin doesn’t seem fazed. “You’re enrolled in Grimm Studies, Remnant Geography and History, International Communications, and Battle Skills, but ironically, no hands-on combat courses— at least, not formally. I’m aware of your exemplary performance in the Emerald Forest, but this will give me an opportunity to gauge your abilities… better.” 

He’s nonplussed. “Fine. But I hope you know you’re going to lose.” 

“Arrogance has no place in battle. The only thing that keeps you alive is your own sense of mortality, Qrow.” Ozpin tenses. He sweeps his cane forward, and Qrow’s eyes narrow. It's starting to look less like a cane and more like a disguised weapon, like his sword. “Shall we begin?” 

Qrow lets the silence fill the space of three seconds before he lunges, sword slicing downward faster than the eye can follow, but Ozpin suddenly isn’t there anymore. Startled, Qrow whirls around. Miraculously, the headmaster stands on the other side of the room, as if he hasn’t moved at all. He looks barely ruffled, his hands still folded over the top of the cane. 

“What in hell?” Qrow mutters, before he hurtles forward again, and it’s then that Ozpin strikes. 

Time seems to bend around his form, elongating and stretching, and Qrow barely has time to dodge before the cane stabs where his abdomen was only a millisecond before. Qrow moves like lightning, flashing to one side of the room with his sword up and crossed defensively over his chest, but Ozpin is already there, battering at his defenses and not holding back at all. A sharp grin crosses his face, his copper eyes dancing. 

Qrow parries each blow as hard as he can, his feet grinding against the floor before Ozpin retreats, spinning away from him. It feels like a dance— a dangerous dance, one where they are interlocked and spiraling down into chaos. But he doesn’t feel scared or angry. He’s exhilarated, his blood singing in his veins. He hasn’t felt this alive in ages. No one has been able to give him a battle that really tests his abilities like this one. 

He swings out his sword suddenly, a streak of silver flashing over Ozpin’s head, but the headmaster twists out of the way and flips off the wall with one agile spring, his cane blurring with speed as he brings it down. Qrow darts out of the strike’s path, backflipping over and changing into a crow midway through the flip so he comes up as a corvid, beating his wings. He swoops up towards the ceiling as Ozpin breathes heavily, looking up at him, and Qrow feels a sense of satisfaction that’s like being high, sharpening his senses and making his veins hum. He might not be winning this fight, but he’s definitely not going down easily. 

“Mind yourself, Qrow,” Ozpin calls. “You are only as dangerous as your determination.” 

When he’s as high up as he wants to go, he shifts back into himself, plunging towards the ground like an arrow and thrusting his feet out to kick Ozpin down. 

Ozpin suddenly isn’t there anymore, and Qrow hits the ground in a shallow crouch, head bowed, before pressing the trigger on his sword and whipping out of the way as Ozpin flashes out of the shadows with his cane hurtling from his hand. Qrow dodges the strike, and the cane bounces off the wall behind his head, returning to Ozpin’s hand in a flash. Qrow slashes out with his sword, now a scythe, trying to trip him up, and Ozpin’s not fast enough to dodge it. Qrow hits him squarely in the side, feeling only a flicker of guilt as the headmaster recoils from the point of contact. 

“Slowing up, Oz?” 

“I’m just getting started.” The words are barely out of his mouth before Ozpin lunges forward. Qrow tries to duck out of the way, but he isn’t swift enough. His cane catches him around the shoulder with a blow that sends him to his knees. He fumbles for his sword, but another stab from Ozpin’s cane— in and out like a snake’s tongue— stabs him right in the pressure point on his upper arm. He drops his sword with a cry of frustrated pain, and collapses as a starburst of pain radiates out from his arm. He grits his teeth as gold-and-black light flashes behind his eyes. “Fuck,” he says, clenching his eyes shut as he tries to battle back the pain. 

“Profanity, Qrow.” Ozpin doesn’t really sound that mad as he chastises him. 

“Well, _you’re_ a goody-two shoes if I ever saw one,” Qrow grunts, the wave of pain ebbing from his arm. “That was clever.” 

“I have the funniest suspicion that your admission on that matter is made in grudging fashion.” Ozpin, curse him, sounds smug about his victory, and Qrow blows out a heavy breath through his nose. The smug little bastard probably knew he was going to win from the moment they started, especially if he could end it in a single strike. He’s more powerful than he lets on— but then again, he is the master of an Academy of warriors. It stands to reason that he’d be pretty damn skilled.  

“Do you want to cripple me?” Faking resent, Qrow peels open one eye to glare up at Ozpin. He looks amused, the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and highlighting the edges of his hair to frosted gold. His eyes glow copper, and Qrow feels the strangest fluttering in his chest, his heartrate speeding, though the fight is over. The same startling thought that once came to him— all those months ago at their midnight meeting in the corridors, when Ozpin bade him goodnight after soundly beating him at chess— comes to him again in a speeding rush.

_I’m screwed._

“Hardly,” Ozpin says, but Qrow has forgotten what he’s saying it in reply to. His mind is wiped clean of everything except the immediate present. 

“Come, let’s get you up.” Ozpin continues, extending his hand with a soft smile. “This training, I assure you, will be beneficial to you in the tournament. My fighting style is unique and not easily imitated, so many students would find it increasingly difficult to counter, especially in the pressure of public eye.” 

“Ever heard of the whole _‘modesty is a virtue’_ spiel, Oz?” Qrow takes Ozpin’s proffered hand, ignoring the prickling that races up his arm at the contact, and hauls himself to his feet. He sheathes his sword, and trails after Ozpin as he wanders towards the exit, hands clasped on the top of his cane. 

“I have full confidence you will do well in the tournament, Qrow. You are unique in a certain way. Smaller people tend to fight with finesse because they are unable to use strength to swing the battle their way, whereas larger people simply batter at their opponent, heedless of tactic, until they win. You employ both styles. You fight with aggression and finesse, and this may be enough to give you an advantage— but you may want to hold off on shapeshifting to try and attack your opponent from the air. It was a unique approach— and not an easily predictable tactic, either— but it expended much of your energy, and it would not be wise to draw such regard to yourself in such a widely-hailed event. Everyone will be watching the tournament for different reasons. Public eye will be trained upon you.” He pauses, his voice concerned. “I know you worry about the tribe tracking you down once more.” 

Qrow scowls at his feet. “The tribe are godsdamned cowards. Every one of them. I’d like to see them try to take me now.” 

Ozpin seems to hesitate, before he reaches out to brush a curl of hair away from Qrow’s eyes, fingers lingering on his skin. Qrow blinks in surprise. “You have strengthened more than you know. I have witnessed an immense change from the boy who first entered this academy to the man you are now, and believe me, I am honored to have been a part of your path.” 

Qrow opens his mouth to reply, and shuts it again, not really knowing how to respond, but it turns out— he doesn’t need to. With an uncertain expression on his face, quiet unlike his usual unfaltering charisma, Ozpin bobs his head and turns to walk away. Qrow doesn’t stop him, just watches his retreating form, silhouetted in the warm, late sunlight. He’s all the colors of autumn, painted in fire and dappled gold. He leans on his sword, completely nonplussed as he watches Ozpin round the corner of the hallway, and vanish from view.

His arm is still pulsing with pain, but the pain in his chest hurts worse— because he’s not an idiot, and the feeling in his heart is familiar. He recognizes it in the way Taiyang looks at his sister, and even in the way Summer looks at Taiyang. He knows what love is— knows that it can crush and kill a person, that it’s a weapon even more dangerous than a gun or a sword. It’s not the soft and gentle thing that everyone makes it out to be. It’s a sickness, a disease that takes over and drags him down into nowhere. He can feel those copper eyes, everywhere and out there, watching him, staring right into his soul. 

He remembers Taiyang’s words when they got into their first fight. _So you think I’m the freak for going after a couple girls, but you’re off with the headmaster._ And then, _You think we can’t all see it whenever you come back from being around him? You think it’s not obvious?_

Qrow hadn’t let him finish either of those sentences, because Taiyang had been about to reveal a truth that Qrow was in no way prepared to confront, but now it’s here, staring him in the face, and he can’t ignore it any more. 

Above Qrow’s head, a light flickers and sputters out, doused by misfortune. 

* * *

Qrow trails one hand through the waters of the fountain, frowning at his distorted reflection in the water. 

“You know, there’s been a rumor going around that if you’re gracious enough to place a penny within its waters, that fountain will grant you a wish.” Ozpin’s head appears over Qrow’s shoulder, rippling in the water, but he looks unusually strained. Qrow flicks a droplet of water at him irritably, with a “stop sneaking up on me”, and Ozpin leans to the side, dodging it with ease. 

“Calm yourself, I'm only joking. Why are you wandering about the courtyards instead of planning tactics with your team? The tournament is drawing nearer day by day. It would be wise to utilize your time in a more beneficial fashion.” 

Qrow spins away from the fountain, hunching over with his elbows balanced on his knees, and his hands clasped together. He evades the prying question. “You realize you speak like some twelve-year old Dutch schoolgirl trying to sound fancy, right?” 

Ozpin looks off at the entrance to Beacon without replying. There are dark gray shadows under his eyes, and the strain around his mouth is pronounced. Qrow cocks a brow. “Huh. You look brooding. Who has you PMS-ing?” 

“ _Whom,_ ” Ozpin corrects, eliciting a grunt from Qrow. Once a teacher, always a teacher. Then, he sighs. “There is a visitor coming to Beacon today and I am— less than enthusiastic about meeting with him, I confess. He has always been a rather forceful presence, and the stress of organizing the safety procedures of the tournament always shortens his temper. Having the Council’s pressure and eyes upon you can be both a blessing and a burden.” 

“Who’s this visitor?” 

“The General of Atlas’s military, and a holder of the seat on their Council, as well. His name is James Ironwood— he is young, and desperate to prove himself. Only twenty-seven years old… he was appointed General because he is a mastermind at battle strategy, a proven warrior, but he’s also blindly loyal to the Council. That can make him dangerous. And, of course, he has his own personal reasons for being too foolhardy and desperate to impose his control and will upon his environment and the people in it.” Ozpin runs a gloved hand down the length of his cane. His movements, graceful and controlled, almost like the restrained power of the ocean, mesmerize Qrow, but his next words jar him. “Unfortunately, he suffered a terrible accident several years ago. I do not know the specifics, but I have a network of reliable information, and I suspect it involved a mistake when he was developing the prototypes of his mechanized military…. he lost his left leg, his left arm, his torso, and his ribcage was almost completely burned away. The only reason he was able to survive that was because they immediately got him to a hospital and plugged him into life support, and kept his Aura sustained… and they combined what remained of his body with prosthetics and robotic functions.” 

“Jesus,” Qrow says, and that’s all he has time to say, because at that moment, a noise that strongly resembles Taiyang’s gods-awful snoring kicks up. Ozpin and Qrow look in unison at the gates of Beacon. A little fleet of airships— new technology; Qrow’s never seen one personally, and they look a little underwhelming— is descending on the docks. And it’s no secret who’s aboard the largest one in the lead. 

“Qrow…” Ozpin sounds uncertain. “Would you accompany me?” 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.” He rakes a hand through his hair with a neat flip of his wrist, flicking his bangs back, before rising and following Ozpin, who begins to stride towards the fleet, his cane clicking against the cobblestones. As Qrow rises, His Scroll buzzes. He checks it and rolls his eyes. It’s Taiyang— and what’s worse, he has six missed calls sitting in his notifications.

 _Taiyang; 10:23 AM—_ _Where the hell are you? I’ve called you like six times. We need to train for the tournament, you ugly bird_

_Taiyang; 10:23 AM— i know I’m not the only one mad, because Raven keeps pacing around and cursing you out and Summer’s not even telling her to stop_

Qrow thumbs back a quick response. 

_Qrow; 10:24 AM— Tell her to get her panties untwisted. I’m busy._

Taiyang’s answer is annoyingly accurate. 

_Taiyang; 10:24 AM— Busy with what, jerking off in the stalls or wandering around like some cryptic lapdog with Ozpin?_

_Qrow; 10:25 AM— Fuck off_

There’s no real venom in it, though, and Tai must know it, because he sends back a laughing face before another message. 

_Taiyang; 10:25 AM—Raven says, “That’s a bitch of an unsatisfactory answer. Tell him to stop blowing us off to blow someone else.” Sorry man. Her words, not mine. Anyways, hurry up and get back here soon_

_Qrow; 10:25 AM— Alright._

He stuffs his Scroll away and quickens his pace to reach Ozpin’s side. They’ve reached the airship by now. The door hisses before popping open, and a figure steps out, squinting in the sunlight. His chest is plastered with medals and cords of an officer— he must be the General. 

“Ah, Ozpin,” the General cries out, gaily, stepping to the ground and shaking his hand. “It’s been too long.” 

“Indeed, James. Too long indeed.” Ozpin’s smile seems genuine enough, but Qrow wonders if anyone else can see the undercurrent of strain beneath it and how rehearsed it looks. “I trust you are doing well?” 

The General isn’t really an imposing man, Qrow thinks. He’s not incredibly tall or bulky. The only thing he has going for him is a crafty gleam in his eyes, suggesting that he truly is a military mastermind.. And there is the edge of a burn scar licking up the side of his neck, followed by a metal strap glinting on his forehead that makes Qrow thinks Ozpin’s tale wasn’t exaggerated at all. This man truly is more machine than human— and the dismissive, condescending way he sweeps his gaze over Beacon and Ozpin makes Qrow dislike him instantly. 

“Fine, fine,” he says. “There’s a bit of unrest in the ranks with our newest conscripts, but that’s to be expected. Our Dust harvest was better than it has been in ages. The combat academies are flourishing with the new advancements in technology and Aura. Atlas is thriving.” 

 _I bet,_ Qrow thinks venomously, before a blur of movement catches his eye as a man disembarks one of the farthest aircrafts, and sniffs the air with a contemptuous look on his face. He looks like a weasel, Qrow thinks— a white weasel, with frosty hair and ice-colored eyes, decked out in an excessive white suit with blue lapels. 

“That,” the General says, noticing Ozpin and Qrow’s glances at the man, “is Jacques Schnee, your newest proprietor of the SDC, and the man who wields an incredible amount of public influence— besides myself and the Council, of course. He’s a weasel if I ever saw one, but he could be a potential ally, so I’m holding off on out-and-out discrediting him. We shall see how he performs in the public eye, but he’s here to… familiarize himself with Vale, so to speak. Regardless of his motivations to be here, I don’t think he’s very enthusiastic about it.” 

 _“Schnee_?” Ozpin’s eyebrows knit together as he studies the frosty-haired man. His expression is taken aback. “What has happened to Nicholas Schnee?” 

James’s eyes darken, and he searches Ozpin’s face in confusion. “Hadn’t you heard? He passed the inheritance of his company on to Jacques, and died a few weeks later. The funeral procession was extensive… though I suppose the news would not have been as momentous in Vale.” 

“Certainly not,” Ozpin says with a touch of disapproval, “but I was certain that he would have granted his fortune to his daughter, Willow. He didn’t seem the type to go passing out something he spent his life building to just any man.” 

“As I said, Jacques was— is— a conniving person. Nicholas wasn’t as sharp as he used to be, in his old age. Jacques conned him out of it, convinced him that he was trustworthy with the SDC, married Willow for extra credential, got her pregnant with the next heir, and Nicholas died. To make matters worse, this all within the span of a month. Public opinion is divided; many despise him, but the rest do not, and things have been in upheaval… the backlash and turmoil is still going on, back in Atlas. I’m hoping the Vytal Tournament can smooth public energy over in a way that I cannot.” He smiles. “But enough of politics and problems. We deal with that enough already, don’t you think? How has Beacon been?” 

“Excellent; thank you,” Ozpin replies. 

“How is the new year? Are you managing to keep up with all your new students?” 

“Certainly. We have a highly diverse entry of first-years, and I am confident they will perform splendidly in the tournament.” 

Ironwood’s eyes fall onto Qrow, as if he has suddenly popped into existence between one blink and the next. “And who’s this? Don’t tell me you’ve gone and recruited another student to your staff after Glynda.” His laugh is like a knife scraping against stone. “Though she is qualified, I admit… perhaps more than both of us, hm?” 

“Don’t hold your breath.” Qrow’s voice curls with a sneer. Ozpin shoots him a look sharper than flint. “I’m a student. Flattered, really, that you thought I wasn’t.” 

“I see.” 

Ozpin’s eyes fall onto Qrow. His hands are folded over his cane, white knuckled and stiff, and his eyes hold something that Qrow’s never really seen— or, maybe, never seen directed at _him,_ at least until now. They’re colder than a gust of bitter winter wind. “Mr. Branwen. Would you go back to your dorm?” 

Qrow knows a dismissal when he hears one, and he can tell that Ozpin— if he’s not mad— is at least disappointed. Whatever. He’s not going to suck up to this pompous idiot just to look like a star student. They both know he’s not one. Shaking off the sudden resurgence in memories— _spinning night skies and howling wind and falling falling falling—_ he turns and stalks off wordlessly, hearing their quiet murmuring fade away behind him. 

He rounds a corner and instantly slams into someone. He backs up, scowling, but he cuts himself off as he realizes it’s just Summer. “Hey!” She doesn’t really sound mad, though. “Watch where you’re going, Qrow!” 

Summer looks great. For a moment, everything is okay. Her hair is swept back in black and frosted scarlet wisps. The unusually warm day is evident, because she’s dressed in a Vytal t-shirt with ripped jeans. She’s laughing, her silver eyes sparkling, and they’re just two normal teenagers ready to shine at the tournament. 

But then reality kicks in as she sees the black look on his face. “Oh, geez. What’s wrong?” 

“Did you know that people from Atlas are pricks?” He storms off and she hurries to catch up with him, casting an incredulous glance back at the gates. 

“Is that the _General_ in the courtyard? Oh— right, he’s here for the tournament, sorry. Did you meet him?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“I guess he wouldn’t be too nice. Military people usually aren’t. I’m sorry, Qrow.” She sounds like she genuinely means it, and he finds his anger has softened a little, though it’s not really the General’s attitude that has him bothered. “They might not have liked you, but I think you’re lovely. Not everyone can see it, but you’re a kind person, at heart.” 

He grunts in response. “Whatever. I’ll just— I’m going to go to the city. Get a drink, or something.” 

“Listen to me,” she says sternly, jabbing a finger in his chest. “If you continue doing that, you will die.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll stay sober, then, if it gets you off my back.” 

“That’s the attitude I like to hear! In that case, do you want to go spar or something? Taiyang and Raven have pretty much decided that it’ll be you going on if we make it through, but the team rounds are still pretty difficult.” Her voice loses a little of its color and vibrancy at the names of Taiyang and Qrow’s sister, and he frowns. 

“Summer,” he says abruptly, “do you have a crush on Taiyang?” 

Her face flushes a color even deeper red than the tips of her hair. “I— uh, what?” 

Qrow adjusts his sword on his hip so he doesn’t have to look at her. His face is burning red. He hates these kinds of talks. “You heard me.” 

She drops the pretense of obliviousness, letting out a deep sigh that rustles from the depths of her lungs. “Is it really that obvious?” 

“I doubt it is to him. He’s denser than a rock.” 

“Please don’t speak that way about him,” she says quietly. “I know you don’t like him very much, but I… I do. He’s kind, and sweet, and he’s loyal to us. You can’t deny that he’ll do anything for us, because we’re his team.” 

Qrow grunts in response. “So what are you going to do? Tell him?” 

Summer flinches away. “I— I don’t think so. Tai is a sweetheart, but he’s only got eyes for your sister, you know. I don’t want to do anything to mess up our partnership… he really likes Raven, but I get it.” There is something in her tone when she says _‘Raven’_ that makes Qrow feel uneasy, but then she rests her chin in her palm, gazing out over the sprawling campus with a sad expression on her face. “Do you ever feel like you’re just— unnoticed? Like no matter what you do, the person you love will never really see you as you are, without the weight of expectations and who they think you are?” 

Qrow looks out, sees Ozpin talking with the General, his straight-backed shoulders and lifted head illumined in sunshine. “Yeah,” he tells her. “Yeah, I do.” 

* * *

The day of the Vytal Festival dawns cloudy and cold. They wake up early— unfortunately, they’re slotted for a morning match— and wordlessly begin to get dressed, still shaking sleep out of their bodies. There’s a sort of unspoken communication among them now. Summer tosses Raven a hairband to tie back her unruly mass of hair. Taiyang leaves Qrow’s sword lying by the door so he won’t forget it. Qrow tosses Summer her Scroll. And et cetera. 

They make it out to the courtyards with fifteen minutes to spare; the walk to the airship is made in silence. It’s less of a tense silence than one made out of effort not to expend energy— it’s chilly enough already, and they’re all shivering by the time they make it to the docks. A raw, damp cold pushes its way through Qrow’s hair, slipping under his gear and laying like an icy second skin against his own. 

Taiyang is walking close to Raven, close enough to hold her hand. Summer trails them, her eyes on the cobblestones. As they board the airship, Qrow sees Tai wordlessly slip his hand into Raven’s, their fingers linking together. She doesn’t pull away, which makes him flick an eyebrow up, but he doesn’t remark upon it. Summer looks sad enough already, and they don’t need to be infighting before the match. 

The silence on the flight to the Amity Colosseum is now a tense one. 

* * *

They’re matched up against a Haven team— Team RVER— which is an appropriate name for a kingdom that’s got more rivers than it has people. 

The team doesn’t look special in any way. There’s a tall boy, Elijah, with corn-straw hair and a crooked nose that makes Qrow think it was broken once and healed wrong. One of his eyes glows a bright green, while the other is a muddy brown. Both of them glint with a cruel light. He’s going to be the easiest. Arrogance and cruelty go hand in hand, and arrogance gets you knocked out of this arena right away. The rest of the team is comprised of one boy and two girls. The other boy, Rojo, is a Faunus with reddish-brown hair and dark green eyes, and the slanted tilt of them marks him out as foreign— from Mistral, or the farther corners of Menagerie. He’s a deer Faunus. One antler is snapped off, leaving nothing but a stump with traces of blood— probably broken in a rally, Qrow thinks. Remnant can be cruel towards the Faunus. 

It’s the two girls who look like they’ll be the most challenging. Qrow and Raven swap glances as they size up their opponents. Veronica, the first girl, holds a long, barbed sword. That’s going to be a pain to avoid, because he’d bet his scythe that each barb is coated in some sort of poisonous substance, and those would hurt like hell to pull out. She’s short, with a shock of violet-colored hair that flows to her shoulders, and hazel eyes. And lastly, the team leader, the girl named Reyna, scowls at them. A black whip that flickers with golden light is curled around her wrist. _Electricity,_ Qrow thinks, his eyebrows knitting together. That’s going to be hard to avoid. But Ozpin trained him well, and he’s faithful enough own self-taught skills.  

He tunes out as the commentators begin to prattle on, focusing on his own team. Summer looks anxious, her eyes bright, her nails bitten down to the quick. Not good. Nerves are okay in a fight— they keep you on your toes— but clarity is better. Summer looks liable to break down any second, with so many eyes trained on her. Taiyang is better off— his expression is confident, his chin upturned. The crowd probably loves him. It’s Raven who is the enigma, as always, her hair swept back, her red eyes like two chips of ice. 

Qrow wonders if Ozpin is watching, if he even cares. 

At that moment, the biomes of the arena whir to life, two of them in a half-sphere. One is a swamp, full of muddy patches and cattails. The other is a craggy, treacherous landscape jutting with serrated rocks and obscured pitfalls. Stunted, warped pine trees cling to soil that spills over the crags. 

“I’ve got it,” Taiyang mutters out of the corner of his mouth as the three seconds they’re allotted before the round starts begin to count down. “You go for the ugly boy and I’ll—”

He doesn’t get to finish. Right as the word ‘one’ leaves the commentator’s mouth, the Faunus boy stamps his foot against the ground, and the earth tilts sickeningly. Yellow waves of light flash through Qrow’s vision, and the sound of brass trumpets clangs in his ear, a magnified sound that almost stops his heart in fear. He takes a spill, crashing to his knees as his teammates sprawl the ground. 

The commentators shout something about a fear semblance and manipulating the tilt of the earth, but Qrow’s head is spinning like a top as the sound still tolls in his ears. His heartbeat pounding in his chest, he closes his eyes and sways, trying to chase away the nausea. 

He opens his eyes as he hears the sound of running feet. 

Summer regains her feet first, and instantly, Team RVER overwhelms her. Two of them circle around to the swamp while Rojo lunges at Summer, and she sidesteps, but he leaps back. It’s only a feint, and Summer’s eyes narrow in confusion.

At that moment, a snarl rings out as the boy Elijah plows into her. Summer cries out as she’s thrown backward and out of the ring. The buzzer goes off, and one of the commentators murmurs something. Fury crackles through Qrow’s veins as his vision finally stops seeing double. He shoots to his feet and charges the other team, finding that he is backed by Raven and Taiyang. 

Right off the bat, his sister is amazing. She whips out her katana, and it blurs through the air in a scarlet streak. She barrels forward, attacking the girl who attacked Summer first, her face contorted in anger. Taiyang charges off, fighting someone else, and Qrow engages the boy Elijah, his sword ringing out in tandem with his sister’s strikes. For a moment, there’s just yelling and applause and commentary, and then things start to go very wrong. 

His gaze flashes to the side as lowers his sword, having thrown off Elijah to the side, where he crouches to catch his breath. His sister is still battling against Reyna— but then she bows her head, and it doesn’t take an idiot to see that she’s activating her semblance. Qrow can see her body shudder, a shiver running through it, before a blinding flare of light— brilliant as the sun— radiates out from her. He squints, looking away, before he hears his sister scream. 

His eyes shoot open.

Raven is hurtling out of the arena in a blaze of golden light, and as he watches, she hits the energy barrier and falls to the dirt track of the ring-out area. Shock, followed by fury, crosses her face, and her gaze locks onto him. He sees her mouth move— eyebrows slashing down over her eyes. He can’t hear her, but he can see what she’s saying. 

_Finish them._

It’s the words of a tribe member, and it sends a chill through his blood. 

“No!” Taiyang cries, bringing Qrow back to reality as he leaps at Reyna. Now it’s two against four, and Qrow’s blood crackles with anger as he watches the girl flick out her whip and stab him with the hilt, send Tai careening to the side. He’s thrown off, his face bloodied, where he collapses with a groan. His Aura hasn’t expired to fifteen— not yet— but he’ll be out for a good five minutes at most. Qrow isn’t sure if it’s five minutes he can afford, because now he’s alone, and the crowd is filled with jeering and caterwauls of mocking laughter. 

Hoping Tai has enough sense to plan some sort of ambush when he regains his senses, Qrow charges back into the battle, his scythe brandished before him. The roaring of the crowd deafens him to everything else. He ducks low and rolls, his scythe sweeping out before him. Elijah is too slow, and Qrow catches him with the curve of the blade, his gear tearing as Qrow flings him out of the arena into the ring-out area with a roar of exertion. As the buzzer goes off, his other teammates jump Qrow, trying to bury him under their combined weight and beat the Aura out of him. He remembers Ozpin’s words. 

_You are only as dangerous as your determination._

Letting anger flood his veins, he grips his scythe harder before spinning on his feet and exploding outward in a blur of black fury. He’s a tornado, a hurricane, rocketing off a wall and blasting back through his opponents as silver flashes all around him, scarlet blood spinning away from him as he rages outward. Everywhere his scythe touches brings his wrath in a burning flood of fire, a sharply-honed blade, ready to cut and kill. His weapon is no longer a scythe or sword. It’s an arc of pure destruction. 

He knocks away Rojo first, catching him by his broken antler and using it to kickboard off of his chest and knock him backwards. There’s no time to relish in the victory, because Veronica slides into Rojo’s place with one swift movement, her face contorted in a snarl. Her sword thrusts towards him in a jab, and he blocks it, sidestepping to slash out at her. She parries the blow and darts low under his defenses. He spins his scythe around and yanks the trigger, folding it back up into a sword for more speed. With a yell, their swords meet, straining against each other. Her sword slowly bears down, inexorable, forcing its way towards his throat, the edge shining in the sunlight— 

— and Taiyang comes out of nowhere, plowing into her side and smashing her face into the mud. Qrow gasps in a clear, cool breath, lungs expanding, before he remembers that Reyna is still in the fight. It’s just in time that he whips around to scan the arena. She is creeping up behind him, and as he spies her, she strikes. Her whip flicks out, quick and deadly as a flickering snake’s tongue. She tries to wrap it around his ankles, and he spins out of the way, unscathed, letting it recoil. 

 _Misfortune._ The back of his neck tingles in a rushing buzz and his semblance reacts, flaring out to send Reyna tripping facefirst into a mud puddle. 

He capitalizes on the advantage, pouncing on her as she staggers back to her feet, but he lets out a snarl of pain as she drives her elbow into his stomach and throws him off. Vision swimming, he shakes his head, but then she’s on top of him, her whip burning into the side of his wrists, and those old scars. He thrashes, but she punches him in the face, catching him on the cheekbone, and as his head snaps around, she grabs at it. Her hand grasps clumsily at the side of his face, clawing his temple. She grabs his ear, wrenching his face around to expose his neck. Anger surges through him as he realizes she’s trying to get him vulnerable, to humiliate him before she eliminates him from the round. 

He can either get himself eliminated, or pull himself out of her vicious grip and risk losing the ear, so he chooses the latter. Hopefully, his Aura will protect him. Ripping himself away and leaving a good-sized chunk of his hair bristling from her fist, he brandishes his sword and directs a patronizing smile at her as she crouches there, eyes narrowed at him. “Thanks for the haircut, sweetheart.” 

The word she hisses back will surely be censored out on the national broadcast. “You think you can beat me, Vale trash?” 

“No,” he replies with a crooked smirk. “But he can.” 

She only has time to blink in surprise before Taiyang plunges down from a muddy spire with a roar, and lands feet-first on her shoulders. 

The crunching sound that follows makes Qrow wince. The force of impact knocks her out instantly, and her eyes vibrate in her skull like a gong. She crumples like a felled tree, and Taiyang rolls off of her. “Thanks for breaking my fall!” he chirps at her unconscious form, before sweeping around and flashing a sunny smile at the outburst of applause that thunders up from the spectators. 

“Gods,” Qrow says, sheathing his sword and clapping Taiyang on the back. “Good timing, idiot. You couldn’t have jumped in before she ripped out half my hair, could you? I know you got, like, stabbed and all—”  

“I was lightly stabbed! _Lightly!”_

Taiyang is grinning, though. Ignoring his protestations, Qrow scans the crowd, his eyes dancing over where Summer and Raven are clambering back into the circle of the arena, over a shifting ocean of faces, when he sees the one he is looking for. 

Ozpin is there. His copper eyes are unreadable in the sunlight. But as Qrow watches, he nods his head in approval, the faintest smile crossing his face— and somehow, that’s worth more than every bit of applause that soars up from the audience. 

* * *

Second round is about as easy as the first, with the same narrow victory. He and Tai are victorious, but Qrow’s semblance makes him faceplant into a wall on one occasion— he looks at the crowd. Summer is laughing, silver eyes bright. Raven is looking at him in a softer expression than he’s ever seen her wear. 

But he knows it is the final round that will be the true test. 

* * *

The day of his finale swings around a day that’s uncertain if it’s hot or cold. 

Chilliness and warmth wage war in the temperature, and it wavers, plunging up and down erratically. It’s not unprecedented— they’re in that weird passage of spitting, odd weather between fall and winter. Clouds scud across a sky bluer and stiller than the surface of a pool. Qrow wakes up to Taiyang smacking him upside the head and shouting at him that he’d better get his ass out of bed and get moving, because his round starts in less than an hour. 

Feeling less than dignified, Qrow slips out of the sheets, returns the slap, and ducks into the bathroom as Taiyang hollers at Summer to go get him breakfast. Qrow barely reacts as his semblance gives a half-hearted sort of shiver, and outside the bathroom door, someone shouts. There’s the sound of a loud crash followed by a loud _‘OUCH’_ from Tai, and then heavy swearing, directed at Qrow’s semblance. 

Qrow grins, splashing cold water against his face. Dark shadows encircle his eyes, and his hair spikes up all over the place, like a storm-cloud struck through with static. Nothing has ever been able to make his hair lie down tamely, so he settles for smoothing it down with a damp hand, making some spikes lie flat while more bristle out in the back. He sweeps his bangs off his forehead with a flick and pulls on his gear, tying his cape on with one hand while he staggers into his socks with the other. He’s got a long way to go before he acquires the smooth control Huntsmen have over their own forms. 

Someone begins to bang on the door. “What are you doing, getting dressed or jacking off?” Taiyang sounds irritated. “Let’s get a move on. You a bird or a turtle?” 

“I’m not an annoying little bitch,” he mutters. 

Taiyang’s voice sharpens through the wood of the door. “What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” Qrow pushes his hand through his mess of untidy hair before slamming open the door, almost flattening Taiyang against the wall. 

Summer’s left a plate of something that vaguely resembles breakfast food on his coverlet— you can never be sure what passes for edible in the school cafeteria— and his sheets look like a mole has tunneled through them. 

“You thrash around in your sleep like a dying whale,” Summer informs him sweetly as he sets aside the plate with as much as precision as he would a bomb about to detonate. “Make your bed. That’s an order. I’ll kill you if we get another demerit because of your sloppiness.” 

She probably means it. Scowling, he begins to yank up the covers as she bounces towards Raven like a demented fairy godmother to wake her up.

Ten minutes, a spilled plate of food, and a string of swearing from both Raven and Tai later, they make their way in a disoriented group to the courtyard, flanking Qrow. Summer’s the leader, but today he’s the pinnacle of the team. 

He tries to ignore that the only reason he’s important for now is because of his semblance. To their right, a student slips and falls in a puddle. 

The Amity Colosseum is packed by the time the airship docks at the side, and it’s Raven that goes first, her stride dangerous and compelling. She’s the type of person that people get out of the way for. Qrow’s trying to be that type of person, too. He catches up to his sister, unsheathing his sword so people will clear to the sides faster. “What’s the real reason you sent me on to the singles round?” 

Raven looks amused, not at all taken aback by his bluntness. “Whatever do you mean?” 

“Cut the shit. I know you didn’t just convince Summer to send me on for whatever crap reason you gave her— semblance, right? You’d have done just as fine without a dose of misfortune." 

She snorts. “Well, my dear brother, luck isn’t quite the type of thing I would like to bring into the arena to bestow upon my opponent. You do have a better chance at a victory for us.” Her gaze narrows, going over her shoulder, to where Taiyang and Summer are bickering good-naturedly. “Better than the pair of them, in any case.” 

“Yeah. But you’re just as good a fighter, if not…” He swallows his pride and it sticks in his throat like thorns. Curling his lip, he manages, “if not better than I am.” 

“I bet it kills you to admit that. Just say it, brother. You hate that you’re not as skilled.” She shakes her head. “Regardless, I convinced them to send you on for the same reasons that plague _your_ dreams at night. I have no desire to be focused upon in a national scope… so I made them take you instead.” 

He scowls. “Shitty thing of you to do.” 

“I care nothing for this tournament and the foolish implications it brings. There is no such thing as true alliances or peace, not in a world that has blood soaked into its core.” The look on her face is wholly _tribe_ — savage and edged as a knife. “But victory is something I understand. So go out there and win it for us, my brother.” 

* * *

That’s how he finds himself standing in the gray arena with no biomes and no distractions. A line, six people long, stretches away to his right. There’s two kids from Shade, three from Haven, the girl that they fought in round one, Veronica from Atlas— and, of course, Qrow. 

He’s not at all surprised when he’s chosen first and his opponent is Veronica.  

The count off is a quiet affair, made silent by tension— you can almost hear the bated breaths of the spectators, the gripping hush that engulfs the stadium, and as soon as the word _“one”_ leaves the commentator’s mouth, Qrow explodes into action. 

Swords ring against each other in the stillness, and he slides his blade down. Sparks spit out as the edges grind together, and Veronica spins away, her own sword flaring out at her side as she drops into a crouch. A crooked smile unfurls across her face. “Nice to meet you again.” 

“Wish I could say the same. You’re still as ugly as ever, though.” He’s barely finished the sentence before he pounces, a hundred and thirty seven pounds of pure force swinging out from his sword as he goes for her throat. She manages to roll out of the way, diving between his feet and popping up behind him. 

 _Smaller people,_ Ozpin had said, _tend to fight with finesse because they are unable to use strength to swing the battle their way, whereas larger people simply batter at their opponent, heedless of tactic, until they win. You employ both styles. You fight with aggression and finesse, and this may be enough to give you an advantage._

_Use it._

His fists clench together. As Veronica lunges towards him again, quicker than the tongue of a snake, he jumps straight up. She lets out a cry of frustration and he drops directly onto her shoulders. She crumples with a shriek and he rides her body down, hearing the satisfying noise of her Aura level dropping on the display board above them. 

“Bastard,” she snarls. 

He spits back a reply equally as venomous and she throws himself at him again. It’s dance. He parries, and she darts low, her sword jabbing out for his abdomen. He blocks it and she sidesteps, flashing her sword towards his jaw in an uppercut. He left-hooks the blow, sending her staggering away, near the edge. 

_Determination is key. The only answer._

He stares into her eyes, and knows that if he loses now, he can sink back out of public eye without a trace. Ozpin will know he didn’t even try to go the whole mile. He won’t be mad, Qrow knows. But he’ll be so— disappointed. The applause from the audience rings in his ears, and he can see copper. 

It’s time to end this. 

As Veronica dives for him again, he waits for the last second before sidestepping. As she whirls in confusion, he plows into her, broadsiding her and sending them both skidding towards the edge of the arena. 

They both go over the edge, and she slips out of his grip and goes hurtling towards the ring-out with a screech of fury. He only just manages to grab the edge of the arena before his body falls, and even then, the momentum is nearly enough to yank him down anyways. 

He could shift into his crow and fly back up without batting an eye. But that option, he knows, is one that is denied to him. He’ll die before showing that ability here for everyone to see. Snarling a curse, he grips the edge by the tips of his fingers, pain flaring out from the joint of his shoulder. The rest of his body dangles precariously from the brink. Muscles screaming in protest, he manages to haul his arm back up, throwing one elbow over the side. Tossing his sword onto solid ground, he struggles, his feet churning through empty air, before he hauls himself up and over the edge. There, he collapses, inhaling a shaky breath. His Aura is completely drained and his muscles burn with exhaustion. 

“And that ends our first match,” one of the commentators declares, a note of clear surprise in their voice. “Qrow Branwen of Vale wins by ring-out.” 

That’s all he hears, because then there is the sound of clattering footsteps and the rest of Team STRQ plunge into the arena, running for Qrow. They surround him, congratulating him and chattering in equal measure, their words barely audible over the roaring of the audience. Qrow opens an eye, looks up at them. Taiyang looks uncertain but pleased, the sunlight forming a blurry halo of gold around his head. Summer is grinning down at him, her hair scattered in wispy feathers around her forehead. Raven— Raven is smiling, albeit not much, but it’s there. To his surprise, she extends a hand to help him up, her eyebrows raised.

He takes it. 

“Brother,” she says into his ear as he stands. “Good job.” 

* * *

Seven months later, it’s drawing near the end of their third year. Qrow and Raven are nineteen years old, going on twenty, and so is Taiyang. Summer is eighteen, still— she’s young for a team leader, but damned if she hasn’t earned her spot. For every time that one of them falls, she’s there to pick up their slack. For every bad mood and temper, she is there to encourage and keep up morale. Whenever someone is suffering in a class, she helps them study for the exams. When one of them is sick, she is the one to collect their notes and homework from the classes they miss, and point out where they need to pay attention, and where they can skim the work. She has boundless energy, infinite loyalty, and Qrow knows Ozpin chose well to appoint her to her position. One day, she will be an excellent Huntress, and she will leave her mark on the world. Qrow knows it. 

And him? He’s not sure what lies in wait on his own path. He still has bad nights, where he wakes up from nightmares, wide-eyed and stiff. Most people wake up screaming or terrified. He wakes up silently, lock-jawed, his veins flooded with a chill like ice-water. Sometimes, he still feels like he’s swaying on the brink of Beacon and insanity, life and oblivion. The darkness hasn’t gone away. You can’t get rid of your demons as easily as that— you can just keep them at bay. 

And he has. 

* * *

Qrow is wandering the campus on a dreary day, when the mountains are visible in the distance and everything feels lonely and hushed, the faintest chords of music hanging in the air like crystalline drops. Before the sun has risen, when the world is still and silent, in the foggy and misted twilight of dawn— he finds himself wandering. Past the courtyard, the fountains splashing water into the foggy stillness. Past the gates, hanging open to admit no one to the quiet school. 

Out in front of Beacon, there’s a long stretch of moor— burnt heather and gorse lifting spiny branches to embrace the white mist— and then a drop-off; the cliffs. Qrow wonders if he should shift to fly up and look around, but he can’t find it in his heart to do so. Not that he could see anything through this damned fog anyways. 

There is a solitary figure that slowly comes into view as Qrow nears the cliffs. The fine spray from the rivers that cascade off the brink and go disappearing into a misty nothingness dust him in silver. And from the back, the set of his shoulders, the tilt to his feet— like a bird about to take off— Qrow wonders if this is how he looked, back in the _then._ When he took a step and fell off into nothing. 

“Ozpin,” he calls softly. But he doesn’t turn around— so Qrow goes to him, looking him full in the face. Ozpin’s eyes are closed, and his skin is sprayed with a constellation of silver droplets. His face is old in a way that Qrow has never seen. His hair curls at the tips with dampness, his shoulders slumped down. The wetness around his eyes, streaking down his cheeks, isn’t from the river, though. 

“Oz…” 

Ozpin flinches. Then he does something that really surprises Qrow: he reaches out and pulls him into a tight-gripped hug. 

Qrow, uncertain of what to do, embraces him. He feels light. Delicate. Like the downy, hollow bones of an angel’s wings. Qrow’s heart is heavy in his ribcage, beating against the bones like they’re prison bars. They stay like that for a long time. Something has changed, a tilt in the axis of everything Qrow knows to be normal. But he can’t even begin to identify what it is. 

This feels like dangerous ground. 

“Qrow,” Ozpin whispers, his forehead resting against the sharp curve of Qrow’s collarbone. His voice is young and aching— a weightless, wind-torn thing, rising above the sound of the rushes and the trees, the ocean that surges against the shore. “Please, please stay.” 

Qrow is so full of an unnamed longing he can hardly bear it. 


	4. iv. waking up

_He’s dreaming of the battlefield again._

_Again, he is crouched, bloodied and beaten, in the back alley of the village, using hands slick with blood to try and staunch the pulsing wound on his belly. The Grimm swirl overhead like a tornado of shadows, so he tries to calm his panic. He doesn’t want to draw one towards him._

_But he’s already going to die if he doesn’t get something to stop up this damned wound._

_“Run!” Someone roars in glee. “Flee, little villagers!”_

_Qrow knows that voice. It’s his parent— his father, cruel face twisted in a snarl as he slides his sword from its sheath and stabs a villager through the back in one smooth motion. He snatches the bag of valuables from the corpse as it falls. His mother, taking on two Beowolves at once, a blurred tornado of gray and red. The cloud of Grimm grows louder and thicker, and Qrow swallows, his own blood coating his hands. There— a Nevermore separates itself from the throng, swooping down to the carnage below. Tribe and villagers alike war in tiny battles of their own, and the ground is less green than red, blood slicking the grass in an awful painting._

_The Nevermore lands on the grass right next to Qrow’s father. He turns around, his eyes cold, his sword swinging out. For a moment it looks like it will be fine, and then Qrow’s heart gives a sickening surge in his chest as his semblance flares._

_His father falls first as the Grimm swats him aside with its dark wing. Qrow’s breath catches as the Nevermore sweeps him up and devours him in a single snap of its beak. His mother leaps forward with a ferocious snarl, but the Nevermore is too big even for her, and her blood is red, red, red upon the ground as it rips out her throat with its white talons._

_Qrow screams, strangled and awful. Smoke engulfs his vision as a burning beam falls from a house that’s raging in a conflagration, blocking him off from the scene. Darkness curls in at the edges of his vision._

_“Wake up,” a familiar voice whispers in the shell of his ear. “Wake up, Qrow. Wake up.”_

_“Oz,” Qrow chokes out, before the Nevermore dives towards him, screaming fury, and he—_

Qrow’s eyes shoot open as he surfaces from the seductive, inky blackness of sleep, the world resolving itself to a shadowy gray. Taiyang is snoring. The clock blinks a red _2:37 AM_ into the shadows. Radio music is playing softly. The fan is whirring a steady tone. Everything seems to be as it should, and the gentle _shhhh, shhhh_ sound of the far-off ocean whispers to him, but he doesn’t listen to it. Something is wrong, very wrong; he can feel it in his bones. 

Seconds later, a voice whispers into the darkness— Summer. She sounds hushed and soft. “Raven. Raven, are you awake?” 

Qrow shuts his eyes, evening out his breath, but his mind burns with curiosity. 

“Yes,” comes Raven’s rasp, haggard with sleep, moments later. “What is it? What do you want?”  

“I,” she falters, sounding timid. “I, uh, I can’t get to sleep. Stupid, I know, but I can’t keep my eyes shut. I keep thinking of— of things.”  

“So you thought to wake me up to make me sleepless right along with you?” Qrow isn’t fooled by her words; she doesn’t sound angry at all, which is peculiar. “Like what _things?_ Look, if you just close your eyes and let your mind wander, sleep will find you eventually. Even if you have to count sheep, or something.” 

“Not tonight.” She pauses for a long moment, before rushing out: “I’m sorry to ask this, and if it’s too invasive, please, feel totally free to just ignore it, but… do you think it’s my fault that Qrow tried to— to kill himself that time all those months ago?” 

“Why are you thinking about _that?_ ” Raven sounds startled. “That was over a year ago, Summer. He’s fine now— as fine as he can be. And it’s not a secret why; you know that, you know it’s not your fault. Some people bear the burden of guilt with more hardship than others do, and there’s nothing that can be done to change that. He can’t help his semblance, but you try telling him that. Gods know I’ve tried.” 

Qrow opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, swallowing back a breath. 

“I just…” Summer sighs deeply, a rustling noise emitting from her corner of the room as she shifts up onto the crooks of her elbows. “I wish I could do something more to help him. As his team leader, but also as his friend, you know? He seems so sad all the time. Sad or angry. He’s my teammate— is it so wrong to want him to be happy, even a little bit?”   

“It’s not wrong to wish happiness on another. But it is foolish in this case.” Raven’s voice is hoarse and flat. “You know of my brother. Some people are born luckless.” 

Summer, by contrast, sounds somber. “Yeah, they are. But some people are born— broken. I think you both share that… and I know Qrow only lived because Ozpin saved his life, but I think he— I think a part of him is broken, too. You can tell.” 

Raven says, “You don’t know about his past, nor mine. I don’t think it’s in any interest of yours to be passing judgment on us.”

“Your past.” Summer’s eyes glitter silver in the dark. “Was it really so terrible that you can’t let go of it even now?” 

Raven snaps, “You don’t know me at all.”

It’s a mirror echo of Qrow’s words to Ozpin, and he stiffens under the sheets, cold despite the covers. There’s a long silence, before Summer whispers, “I hope you will find peace one day.” 

Raven doesn’t speak again. 

Shaken, Qrow lies there, staring up at the dappled moonlight shadows on the ceiling. 

_I think a part of him is broken too._

The gentle murmur of the ocean now urges him out of the promise of sleep, and once Summer’s troubled, uneven breaths drop off into a smooth rhythm, followed by Raven’s, he climbs out of the bed and drops to the floor. A strange, restless energy stirs in him, like a wolf prowling, and he leaves the room, following a feeling that he can’t even name. 

He wanders out through the empty corridors, winding hallways and deserted classrooms. Tonight is cold, and everyone is asleep in their dorms. Unchallenged, Qrow makes his way up a spiraling stone staircase, to the upper turrets that spire into the starry heavens. He’s not afraid of heights, and it is longing, not vertigo, that sways his head as he sees the dizzying drop through the windows.

He tries a wooden door paneled with iron bolts. It’s unlocked. So he goes through it, finding himself on a little balcony. Wind scours the turret, lashing his hair back and stealing the breath out of his lungs in a crushing chill. The view’s amazing, a sprawling sight of the campus in a patchwork of electric lights and moon-glinting water. The cliffs drop away in the distance and the moon shines brightly on the ocean, illuminating the crashing surges and white-foamed crests. It reminds him all of the night on the brink of Beacon Tower. But he’s safer now. 

It doesn’t satisfy him, and his heart is still restless. He turns around, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, and he freezes as the door handle turns and out steps a shadowy figure. 

It’s Ozpin, looking tousled and tired, his palms empty of the cane he always carries around. “Qrow?” he says, looking taken aback. Qrow’s heart trips in his chest, stuttering down. 

Summer’s voice: _I hope you will find peace one day._

He hides how shaken he is with a twisted little smile, turning back and resting his elbows on the railing. “You’re not going to give me detention, are you? I was just out for a walk.” 

“Once an insomniac, always an insomniac.” Ozpin walks right past him, to the edge of the balcony. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Height is always useful for clearing the mind… but you, unlike most, don’t need to find a tower to get close to the sky.” Ozpin looks sidelong at him, his words measured. “Why are you here, Qrow?” 

They’re both remembering a time when he was at the top of a tower, and he had only another intention. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, and his words feel dry, sticking in his throat. “I’ve been wandering, I’ve been dreaming. Restless. Trying to get away from it all, but somehow I don’t think I will… I keep wandering back here.” His next words are exhaled on a hoarse breath, and he looks out at the land that rolls away from the Tower, bathed in the silver grace of the moon. The wind ruffles his hair, blowing it out of his eyes, and he grips the battlement, his knuckles white. “I keep finding myself wandering back here to you.” 

Ozpin is by his side, copper eyes almost silver in the starlight. His voice is barely louder than the softest of whispers. “I find myself drifting back to you despite everything, too.” 

Qrow turns to look at him, all white and gray beneath the night. He looks oddly vulnerable, the wind pushing back his hair from his face, and there are stars trapped within the endless depth of his eyes. Qrow leans forward, entranced, pulled forward by something that is almost magnetic. 

And then, somehow, he’s in the steady circle of Ozpin’s arms and he’s kissing him— or maybe they’re kissing each other; Qrow doesn’t know, and it doesn’t matter, because here, he is safe. Here, the shadows cannot touch him. The moonlight drowns them both, and he welcomes it, letting himself fall into what he has denied for so long. 

Qrow stiffens at first as Ozpin’s mouth captures his, before relaxing into it, as something hotter and bitterer than blood thrills through his veins, kissing him back deeply, his hands tangling into Ozpin’s hair. He feels himself stumbling back, the press of the railing digging into his back. Ozpin’s hands grip into his shoulders, biting into the skin, and Qrow takes control again, tilting his head to drive back forward. He nips none too gently at Ozpin’s bottom lip, rewarded by the sound of the headmaster groaning slightly. He runs his tongue gently along the seam of his mouth, welcomed by the parting of his lips. His heart— he can hear it in his veins, thundering through his blood like the beating of a drum. He has never felt more alive, not even in flight.

Ozpin breaks away, his forehead resting against Qrow’s, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Qrow, I…” He sounds nervous, actually nervous. “Is this—”

“Shut up,” Qrow murmurs, and the cold light of the moon can’t touch him now. Every part of him is warm, warm, warm. “Just kiss me.” 

He does, but first, he laughs, and it’s one of the best sounds Qrow has ever heard.  

_Here, I am safe._

* * *

Hand in hand, they wander back to the tallest Tower. Qrow feels like he’s flying without having ever left the ground.  

If peace is in his future, he thinks he might be on a good trail to finding it. 

* * *

“You’re looking awfully chipper,” Summer whispers in his ear as they shuffle through the cafeteria lunch line, her words almost lost amid the loud shouting and chatter of the cafeteria. “What’s up with _you?”_ She wiggles her eyebrows and grins. “Did you meet someone _special?”_

He rolls his eyes as a glop of food is overturned onto his tray, and then Summer’s. “No, I’m just happy that this doesn’t look like radioactive waste.” 

She makes a face, prodding at a greenish lump on her tray that he thinks might be spinach. “I beg to differ.” 

He grins. It’s so unfamiliar and he knows that Raven has noticed how he keeps smiling at nothing, because when he and Summer sit down at the little table Team STRQ claims in the back corner— Summer next to Tai, Qrow next to Raven— she directs a withering stare at him. 

“Did you magically get laid over the weekend, or what?” she mutters out of the corner of her mouth as Taiyang greets them both. “Stop smiling at the damn wall and get your head back to reality.” 

He scowls. “Who pissed in your cereal?” 

Summer smiles into her milk. Raven, with a roll of her eyes, mutters something about castrating him with her katana, but he knows she isn’t really in a bad mood, because less than two seconds, she’s smiling at Taiyang— or, at least, as close as she can _get_ to smiling. 

“So,” Summer snaps, breaking off their conversation as she slaps her palm down in the middle of the table, nearly upsetting Taiyang’s glass. “Listen up, you animals. The dance. We need to talk about it. This is the _one_ event we’ll remember for the rest of our lives. It’s like prom, but for Hunters.” 

Tai looks alarmed, tugging at the collar of his uniform. “Fuck, is that coming up soon?” 

Summer’s jaw sags open. “It’s this weekend! I’ve been reminding you about this for _weeks,_ Tai!” 

He laughs nervously. “It, um… slipped my mind?” 

“Hmph,” she huffs. “Well, there’s a lot we need to get done if we’re going to like the responsible third years that we are. I’m not embarrassing myself because you lot can’t get your act together. We need to coordinate, plan— everything, if this is going to be one night we remember.” She raises a brow in Qrow’s direction as he sits back, folding his arms crossly. “Yes, grumpy, that _does_ involve somehow getting you into a tuxedo. I’m thinking plain black with a dark red tie. It’s your color. But your hair is a complete wreck. We can get that fixed for you, somehow.” She frowns into her lunch tray, as if envisioning possibilities. “Maybe hair gel.” 

He lets the comment about his hair slide. “No godsdamned way that I’m wearing a suit,” Qrow says. “Forget it. I’m not dressing up like a doll and shuffling around a ballroom with sweaty students until ungodly hours in the morning. I’d rather be plucked of all my feathers and boiled into a pie first.”  

“That can be arranged,” Taiyang says darkly. 

Summer smacks him up the backside of the head. “ _Tai!”_

He rubs his neck, bristling. “Geez, woman! It’s not a cannibalism joke if he’s a bird when we do it!” 

Raven yawns. “This all seems like a waste of time. Memories are fine, but they’re not valuable. We’re only here to train as Huntsmen and Huntresses and move on with our lives, not linger on past events.” 

“Calm down there, edgelord,” Qrow mutters into his tray, earning him a similar slap upside the head. 

Taiyang leans over and takes one of Summer’s hands and one of Raven’s, and Qrow battles back a smirk as he sees how red Summer’s face flushes. “Ladies, I’m going to have to ask you to stop whaling on us. I know that Qrow’s face just makes you want to kick him right in the crotch— gods know I feel that urge from time to time—”

“Pretty pathetic, that you have the urge to touch my crotch, Taiyang. I didn’t need to know that.” 

“— but let’s all just calm down.” He lets go of both of their hands and smiles. “After all, we’ve made it through two years together so far. Let’s make it the last two without any casualties. We’re doing great.” 

Qrow gives Summer a look. She’s still blushing red. _Tell him you like him._

She scowls at her hands. _No._

He folds his arms. _Go on, do it._

A slight shake of her head. _No._

He raises a brow. _What, are you too cowardly?_

She kicks him under the table. _Shut up!_

“Stop having eye-sex, losers, and let’s get to class.” Taiyang nudges Summer out of the booth, and she lets out a loud groan, turning her face skyward and asking the gods why boys are so damn annoying. 

“I’ll let you know when I find out the answer myself,” Raven tells her, weaving past the rest of her bickering team and vanishing out the cafeteria doors, leaving Qrow to grapple with a single, gods-awful prospect: what in hell he’s going to wear to the dance. 

* * *

Hours later, they’re wandering back to their dorm after an exhausting day of classes when Qrow’s Scroll gives a sharp chirruping noise in his pocket. 

Taiyang goes ‘ _oooooh’_ in an really obnoxious way that makes Qrow long to punch him right in the eye, while Summer and Raven glance at him curiously. Eyebrows knitting together, he fishes out his Scroll to see a single notification waiting in his inbox. 

_10:03 PM— Meet me in my office in the space of ten minutes time._

He snaps his Scroll shut as Summer attempts to see the message over her shoulder, but she fails miserably because she’s shorter than two of him put together. “You guys go onto the dorm. I need to— I need to go do something.” 

“Holy shit,” Taiyang exclaims, waggling an eyebrow at him— not maliciously, but Qrow hates being teased. “Something, or some _one?_ Who’s the lucky girl, Qrow?” 

He flips him off and turns the other way as the rest of STRQ proceeds to the dorm, heading down a side corridor that will take him to the staircases. Though he’s exhausted, his blood sings in his veins, heart picking up its speed. Luckily, there’s no lone Glynda or teachers prowling the hallways, and he clatters up a spiraling stone staircase in one, two, three bounds. Reaching the glittering chrome elevator, he steps inside and presses the button neatly labeled ‘ _TOWER— OFFICE’,_ watching it glow gold as the doors slide shut. The elevator hums and shoots upward, and after about ten seconds, they open up again to a spherical room, filled with white moonlight. 

“Hey,” Qrow says, stepping out over the black line that separates the elevator from the office. It plunges downward; it could be an infinity. He stops just outside of it. 

Ozpin, at his desk and nearly buried with mounds of paperwork, looks up. He looks tired. “Greetings, Qrow. Thank you for coming.” 

“Sure.” His heart is insistent at his temples, his neck. Last night is running circles in his mind. “What do you need?” 

Ozpin’s expression wavers for a second as he flinches, surprising Qrow, and then, startling him even further, the headmaster stands up in a sharp motion and turns around. He looks out over the mountains, to the ocean that beats against the cliffs. His back is to Qrow, his hair falling in wrought curls over his eyes, like metal scraps of silver. There is agony in the sharp line of his shoulders, and he is silent for a long moment, before: “Qrow, what is your favorite fairy tale?” 

He’s surprised. “I never got to hear many, not back in the tribe. They were pretty… strict with the idea of reality, Oz.” 

“Nonetheless, do you know of any tales?” A note of desperation makes his voice sound strangled. “Of magic, of gods and demons and the world around you?” 

Qrow walks over to him. Ozpin doesn’t move. He’s still, his head bowed and painted with silvery shadows in the moonlight. Qrow brushes away a curl of hair from his eyes, wishing he could do something about the tightly-closed agony in his face: copper eyes hooded by closed lids, mouth in a hard line, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Ozpin. What’s this really about?” 

Ozpin presses his fingers to his temple, going down to his knees and folding in on himself, much to Qrow’s alarm. His voice sinks to a whisper. “There is so little time left… this burden bows my shoulders forward, and I cannot escape it. I cannot escape the turn of the clock, her inescapable grip, the reckoning of a balance, the change of the seasons, the yawning grave. I cannot escape these shackles which bind me and have for all of my life, before I ever had a say…” His copper eyes lock onto Qrow, and tears brim in them, streaking down his cheeks and forming silver rivulets in the gloom. His gloved hands shake so badly that Qrow’s heart jumps with worry. “I am so weary, Qrow.” 

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay, Oz. I’m here. I’m right beside you.” Qrow brushes his fingers down Ozpin’s face, across his lips, feeling the headmaster’s breath against his skin. “Tell me what’s bothering you so I can help, okay? Will you do that?” 

Ozpin nods faintly, letting out a deep breath. “I used my semblance to save your life, all that time ago.” He brings his hands down to his knees, examining them as if they’re foreign objects. “My semblance is not like most… we are alike in that aspect, I suppose. You were born with the ability to bring misfortune to those around you… and I am able to control the fluidity of time, and of the very fabric of the universe.” 

Qrow goes stiff. “You can stop time?” 

Ozpin lets out a laugh that is devoid of amusement. It sounds helpless, and it breaks Qrow’s heart. “No. I can move myself outside the grasp of time… I can be in many different spots within the span of a heartbeat. It is useful in a fight, to dodge the blows of an enemy… and I can also form shields around myself, weaved from the very fabric of the universes’s atoms. I can master energy and time, and turn them to my advantage… but at a terrible cost, Qrow. A terrible cost.” He looks lost as he tilts his head upward, moonlight raining down on him, pooling in the hollow of his throat, brightening his hair. “I cannot die.” 

Qrow can’t help it; he recoils, and Ozpin’s face fills with self-loathing. “What… you can’t _die?_ You mean… gods, how old are you? Hell, how does that even work?” 

“You wonder if I have inhabited this form for years.” He lets out another breath, soft and broken. Qrow thinks it might be a laugh, but it is hollow and empty, spinning off into silence with a finality that makes his heart ache. “That is only natural, but the answer to that, I’m afraid, is no. In this body, I am about as old as you are… a few years older, surely, but within the same span. And as for the mechanics of how it works…” Ozpin’s lips twist in a bitter smile. “My soul cannot perish. Cannot pass from the realm of this world to the next. It inhabits another body once my current mortal form withers and reaches its end. Most people are born; they live their lives; they die, and then their souls go beyond… to wherever you believe we go after we die. But mine has never been able to pass from the fabric of Remnant to whatever afterlife there may be. I am stuck here… gods know how long I have been. I have forgotten as the years fly by. All I know is that it has been a very, very long time since I was a young boy.” He sighs, as if caged in some inescapable trap, and in some way, he is. “Immortality is not a gift, Qrow. It is a curse… and both of us are cursed in a way.” 

“So you can die, but you’re just reborn over and over with the same knowledge, personality, and semblance… not even reborn, I guess. You’re just recycled into someone else’s body.” Qrow’s voice is inflectionless. “And this is how it’s been for as long as you’ve been… alive?” 

“Yes.” 

“That is a terrible fate,” he says. “But, gods… this must have happened for a reason. Nobody is just _born_ immortal. How did it happen to you?”  

“You were ‘just born’ unlucky,” Ozpin says. “Is it so hard to believe what I have said? Surely the fates will have their ways with us as they please, and it is not our place to challenge it, but merely work with what we are given, wouldn’t you say?” 

“No,” Qrow snaps. “A shitty semblance and immortality are different, Oz.” 

Ozpin looks more remote than the stars. His next question takes Qrow by surprise. “Qrow, are you willing to listen to a little bit of storytelling?” 

“I— yeah. Yeah, sure.” 

Ozpin bites his lower lip, looking conflicted, before he says heavily: “There are three crucial stories that define the history of Remnant, and what makes its axis turn… what formed what humanity was today. These three stories are the legends of the Maidens, of the silver-eyed warriors, and of the gods of light and dark. One legend to guard, one to fight, and one to create. First, I will tell you the legend about the gods, and how I came to be. 

“Back when Remnant was an infant planet, with nothing but shadows and emptiness, two gods emerged from the nether and they desired to create a world full of life. These two gods were brothers. One was light, and one was dark.” 

“That sounds pretty typical,” Qrow says, dubious. 

“It is the truth. All of what I am going to tell you… it’s the truth. I swear that much on my soul itself.” Ozpin winces, as if Qrow has struck him. “Allow me to continue my tale. The gods, as I stated, emerged from the shadows and endeavored to create something more substantial than the emptiness enveloping Remnant. Why they wanted this, I cannot say— gods are wont to do what they please— but they did. So the god of light, the older brother, lifted his hands to make his first creation… but the younger brother, the god of darkness, resented him and everything he did. You see, so great was the legacy of the god of light that long was the shadow he cast, and this shadow grew only darker as days and nights passed. The god of shadow lived in this darkness, and it shaped him. Such is the way of the limelight: it possesses the mind of its host, and the blinded one does nothing to stop the destruction of the one that needs it the most. 

“The god of light created one soul. This soul was the soul of the wizard who would go on to form the Maidens.” 

Qrow stares at Ozpin. Really stares at him, at his bowed figure under the light of the moon, and tries to envisage him not as a wise headmaster— but as an ageless soul trapped in a mortal form— but he can’t wrap his mind around it, not yet. “Was that wizard… was that first soul you?” 

Ozpin’s eyes glow with starlight, boundless copper. “No. I come into the story later, I’m afraid. But, as I said, when the god of light lifted his hands to shape his first creation, _the wizard was the first._ Before the sun, the stars, before the humans… he _existed,_ Qrow. And thus, that’s why the seasons can never die, and why Remnant lives. Later on, his soul would go to someone else, but I… I digress, for now. There is more to this tale. When the wizard was made, he was not alone. The god of darkness also lifted his hands when his brother did, and he formed— what would become, in a way— the wizard’s sister. When the god of light made his first soul, so did the god of darkness… and he chose to make Salem, who is the twin first creation.” 

Qrow blinks at him, still holding onto his shoulder, which is trembling slightly. “Who is Salem?” 

“She is a spirit older than I,” Ozpin murmurs heavily, “and she desires nothing more than to tear humanity down. She is the unseen force you feel when you are scared. She is the empty spaces between the stars. She is my oldest enemy… and she commands the Grimm. I have no doubt that she is out there still, plotting on how to bring about humankind’s demise. But it does not matter who she is, truly. What matters is that we are twin sides of the same coin. She and the spirit of that wizard are what the gods left behind. Both of their spirits hold only a fraction of the gods’ power— he a fraction of light, and she of shadow— but that power is enough to level mountains, cut down forests, slice a path through an ocean. After Salem and he were created, the gods went on to populate Remnant more thoroughly than just two souls, as you know. They made the Grimm, and humanity, and Faunus, as lesser beings for them to rule. They made fire and life. And then they cast down the relics… knowledge, choice, creation, and destruction. The four fatal guiding lights that map out humanity’s bloody trail. 

“That old wizard was granted the relics of knowledge and creation… and Salem was granted those of choice and destruction. Those relics were theirs to do with as they pleased. And because he was light, and she was dark, that made them two parts of a balancing act. He would ensure that darkness never blotted out the light of Remnant, as Salem hungered to do… but she, in her turn, pulled him down to make sure that humanity never grew too arrogant; humanity was never intended to become more powerful than the gods. They were cast down from heaven with two powers each: as I said, his was creation and knowledge, and hers were choice and destruction. The wizard, with his powers, created the Maidens— I’m sure you know that already. Salem, in her turn, created the seed of evil that is in every human’s heart, though some choose to fight or feed it. The wizard and Salem created countless things together, using the relics’ power, and their own. Everything she made was bent towards one purpose: upsetting the balance and bringing down humanity. In his own turn, the wizard made semblances for the humans, gave them knowledge and the spark to always move forward… that’s how they made kingdoms and combat academies, and everything else that is good. And then…” Ozpin’s eyes grow misty. “After many years of the ceaseless struggle between light and dark, the wizard grew too arrogant. He wanted to banish Salem and darkness from Remnant forever, and make sure the light would never die, but he forgot one crucial thing.” 

Qrow sits back on his heels, studying Ozpin. “Which was?” 

“He forgot,” the headmaster says quietly, “that darkness lies not only in the Grimm and Salem, but everywhere. Even in his own heart, for he was greedy in that manner… greedy, and arrogant. By choosing to exile darkness, he was effectively trying to fight his own soul, and the soul cannot survive divided. After all, you can say the light of goodness exists in everyone, as does the shadow of darkness. Salem may be evil in every way it counts, but if you look for goodness, it is there. She is determined, and clever… but she turns her advantages to the most terrible of means. Because of this, Qrow, the wizard was never going to win a battle between light and dark, because such a thing simply cannot happen. There is no true _‘light’_ and _‘dark’_ , not when evil and morality mingle in equal parts… when they have so much in common. Like the gods, light and dark are brothers. One cannot exist without the other.” 

“The way you’re talking,” Qrow says, awed by the history hanging heavy in the air around him, his mind so thoroughly numbed by the knowledge that he can barely comprehend it all, “it makes it seem as though you don’t come into the picture. How does this relate back to you and your soul?”

Ozpin continues, as if Qrow didn’t speak at all. “The wizard’s choice to try and banish darkness from Remnant was doomed to fail before it ever began. Before he engaged Salem in combat, he attempted to create a breed of warrior that would combat darkness— the Grimm— in a way that regular humans could not. These warriors would be faster, stronger, superior… born-fighters with an inherited streak of battle-hunger. He created the silver-eyed warriors. They had human bodies— and they _were_ humans, but ones that had a greater portion of light in them than the rest. They also had an inherited tendency for battle, and for courage. Every human is born with a spark of ambition and bravery, but the silver-eyed warriors were born with a much greater spark than the rest. Salem saw what the wizard had done, and she grew angry— with him, and with the silver-eyed warriors. She knew he was trying to drive her out forever, and this led to a terrible battle between them… a battle so great that the blood of their sins still cries out from the earth. Many Grimm were drawn to and born from this battle. It was a fight so monumental that it shattered the moon, divided the seasons, and scattered the relics to the four corners of the world… and the wizard was killed in the fight.” 

Qrow stiffens. “What about his warriors with the silver-eyes?” 

“Salem could not kill them. She knew they were all that existed on Remnant that were composed of light anymore, besides the humans. They fought her Grimm, and they represented what was light… and Salem knew what the wizard had not known: that darkness couldn’t exist without light. Much as she hated humanity, she knew it was necessary, at least for the time being. Though I am sure she still longs for nothing more than to crush light forever.” 

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Qrow accuses him. Ozpin looks up sharply. 

“What?” 

“Something about the silver-eyed warriors. You looked all shifty just now. You’re hiding something and I can tell. I didn’t survive on my own without knowing how to read everyone’s expressions, Oz. What is it?” 

Ozpin closes his eyes. “Qrow, a few of the silver-eyed warriors… still exist today. They are just as strong, just as real… and in just as much danger from Salem’s wrath.”  

The world vanishes in front of Qrow’s view and on the back of his eyelids, with the force of a lightning-bolt, he can see a single face, frozen in time. Laughing, white cloak billowing out behind her, weapon in hand. Strong, beautiful, brave, silver-eyed, and in mortal danger now. 

“Fuck,” Qrow breathes. “It’s her. It’s her, isn’t it? Summer?” 

Ozpin inclines his head. “Your teammate is one of them, Qrow… and the stories all link back to us, some way or another. But I am not finished. When Salem struck the wizard down, his physical form was killed. His soul could not simply fade away, however. His spirit fled the place it had fallen… and it took up residence in someone else. This was not a possession, but simply a voice… a voice in the back of someone’s mind. The wizard entered the mind and Aura of someone else, and by this, he ensured the person he entered would not die.” 

Qrow guesses what Ozpin is going to say a second before he says it, and he recoils, but he cannot fight back the words. 

“That person,” Ozpin breathes out into the listening night, “that person was me.” 

Qrow’s world seems to splinter, and he bows his head, knuckles white as his fingers bite into his knees. “Gods,” he croaks. “Oh, gods.” He opens his eyes, looks at Ozpin, who could be farther away than the broken moon itself. His hair cascades over his eyes, lines cut deep into his skin, hooded eyes older than the earth— he _looks_ at him. Tries to imagine him as lost, a boy suddenly invaded by a voice in his mind, older than the stars themselves. A boy on track to a normal life, suddenly thrust onto a new path where nothing is safe and darkness itself is trying to murder him. A boy ripped away from normalcy and plunged into immortality and the weight of burdens bigger than anyone has any right to bear. Ozpin, who is brimming with the spirit of light. 

And the funny thing? 

Qrow can see it. He can see every bit of the story’s truth in Ozpin, and it cuts him to bone. The man that he met on the day he entered Beacon— hell, the man he met on the Tower only last night— 

He shatters the thought and crushes it down deep. If he thinks of last night, he will not be able to take it. 

“I’m sorry.” Ozpin sits back, a deep breath rustling out from his lungs. “I try to calculate, I try to expect what will happen next, but you… nothing that has happened this year has been expected. None of it.” His eyes glance at Qrow, clouded with exhaustion and regret. “I would hardly blame you if you hated me now. I should not have—” He falters, before regaining composure, but the mask on his face of calmness has cracked to reveal anguish. “I should not have been so… open with you as I was yesterday. Last night should not have happened, but… I just wanted you to be happy, before this.” 

Qrow reaches out and takes his hand. It is shaking, cold as marble, and he seems to shrink inward. “I’m sorry, Qrow,” Ozpin whispers, inclining his head forward. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry for that. I…” He sighs. “I don’t regret it any more than you do, I imagine.” 

Ozpin’s eyes darken, but all he says is: “I— I can’t do this on my own anymore. Please help me. Please. I promise I will repay you.”   

“You and Summer have something in common, then,” Qrow manages after a long pause. “You’re both figures out of legends. She doesn’t know what— _who—_ she is, does she?”  

Ozpin shakes his head. “And let me tell you this,” he adds, his expression grave. “Darkness brings evil things, and the reckoning begins. Something has been set in motion now that a silver-eyed warrior has come back to Remnant, in one of our most imperiled times, and I fear for Remnant’s fate if another legend springs up. These are uncertain times. I can feel Salem stirring from her rest… her hunger is growing, and a time is quickly approaching when another war will break out… but this is not one that will end in another checkmate. This will be the war to end everything that the gods put on Remnant, from the dawn of time. This is the final stand— the end of all things.” 

Qrow touches his shoulder. “It is what we have been waiting for.” 

* * *

He leaves Ozpin’s office soon after, promising to return come dawn, but the exhaustion in the headmaster’s face doesn’t really reassure him. This is something he has no idea how to deal with. He’s coped with a lot in the span of his life, but this is the surreal, and he feels like he’s plunging downward into a pit of icy cold water with nothing to hold on to, and he hates it. 

 _You let yourself,_ he thinks at himself, but he can’t summon up any sparks of anger, not while his heart is drenched with dark emotions, guttering out his fire. _You let yourself fall. You can fly, but you still let yourself fall for him, and now you’re stuck._

Behind him, he can hear glass and wood cracking against stone as a frame with a picture falls to the ground and shatters, his dark mood reacting with his semblance to bring misfortune with his passing. What a pair they make: the Huntsman who brings about the darker side of fate, and the headmaster who has evaded the turn of the clock. Qrow’s shoulders feel heavier with the weight of what he knows. He can’t imagine how Ozpin feels, having carried the burden of knowledge like this for ageless years, with no foreseeable end in sight.

There are so many things to worry about now, trivial and not-so trivial. His sister. His team. Their relationship troubles. And, stupid as it sounds, the dance in four days, because gods know the last thing he wants to do is disappoint Summer Rose, especially now that he knows what terrible danger she’s in for something as stupid as the color of her eyes. Classes. Where he and Ozpin stand now. The murky mystery of what his future holds. The tribe. Misfortune. 

He wants a drink. 

Qrow feels around in his pocket, making sure he has Lien, and with a dreadful sinking feeling in his chest, he closes his eyes. When he is a crow, he can’t hold onto human thoughts. He can’t remember anything except his destination and how to change back. He is nothing but an animal, then. 

It’s a living death. 

_Change me._

The shift swallows him up in a whirl of feathery darkness and spits him back out, melting and reforging his bones, agony lighting him on fire briefly before he’s a crow. Numb, he takes wing and swoops up and out of a window, over the campus, escaping the bonds and racing into the unfolding arms of night. 

* * *

The fragments of a lullaby are torn loose from his mind— a crow’s mind, with no humanity in it— as the winds gust him to the city. He remembers, and then he doesn’t. 

_You can run but you can't escape._

He flies beneath a sky spattered with stars and he can see rivers and oceans reflecting him right back in the rippling water. He can’t remember his own name. 

_Darkness brings evil things—_

And there it is, just out of grasp, but he has no sense of self. Can’t remember his name, his family, why he is running. 

But he can remember this: he has been alone before. He can learn to be alone again. 

_Oh, the reckoning begins_

_You will open the yawning grave…_

* * *

Qrow throws himself into a ripped stool at the end of the bar, scraping his fingernails against the stained wood. The bartender raises an eyebrow at him, polishing a shot glass with rag so filthy that there’s definitely not any cleaning involved in the process. “You twenty-one, kid? If not, scram.” 

He’s not; he’s nineteen, but he slaps down a folded bill of Lien and scowls darkly in the bartender’s direction. “Just get me bottom shelf.” 

The bartender rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue further. He reaches below the bar and pulls out a dirty bottle, pouring it into a glass. The the dark liquid spills from the neck of the bottle in a glittering, twisting amber rope, droplets splashing over the side. He slides it down to Qrow, who catches it in his palm. With a neat flip of his wrist, he downs it, and it carves a burning path down his throat and settles in his stomach. A buzz goes through his veins and judders his mind. 

He whips around as someone taps on his shoulder, a snarl ready to fly from his lips, but it dies in his throat as he recognizes who it is. 

Ozpin, looking very drained and tired, and so incongruous to the dirty shadows drenching the bar that Qrow can only stare, the glass clutched in his hand like a knife. “What are you doing here?” 

“Looking for you.” He doesn’t sit down. Though his voice is level, it reminds Qrow of a bladed edge held straight to his throat. “Why are _you_ here?” 

“For tiddlywinks,” he snaps. “What the hell do you think?” 

Ozpin casts a cold glance at the glass. “Qrow—”

“You’ve got all the time in the world. Why waste it on me? Why waste it at all? What good am I to you?” Uh-oh. He’s starting to get looser with his words. Not good. The drink is working its magic. “Why waste it on a curse? What do you _see_ here in this bar? This is all I am, Oz, broken…”  

Ozpin looks around at the various patrons scattered throughout the throbbing, dangerous bar— some slumped unconscious, some angrily shouting for another drink, some of them simply dead in every way but physical. He says, “They are beyond redemption, as you soon will be if you continue to do this.” 

The blade has softened but the words still hurt like a blow. “I don’t mean to be a burden on you, but sometimes it looks like that’s all I could ever be.” 

“Come back to the Tower with me,” he says. It’s not an order, it’s a request, by the tone of his words. “Don’t throw away everything you’re too blind to see that you have in this hell.” 

Qrow rolls the glass between his thumb and forefinger, watching the bruised gold and green lights flicker in the surface of the alcohol as if trapped there like flies in amber. With a deep, heaving breath, he grates back his chair and stands up, stumbling slightly on the uneven floor. Ozpin’s hand loops under his arm, one palm resting on the small of his back, and for the moment, the weight on his shoulders eases. 

* * *

The flickering rosy light of dawn spills its first rays across Beacon ground as they make it back to the Tower, and by the time they’re in the office, it’s strengthened into a blood-tinged golden glow. The sun clears away dove-gray clouds. Today will be beautiful, Qrow thinks. It’s a day where Taiyang will be out in the city with Raven, trying to woo her, Summer Rose will be urging Qrow out of the dorm with her silver eyes aglow—  

_They are just as strong, just as real, and in just as much danger from Salem’s wrath._

Qrow lingers, uncertain, by the door as Ozpin drops the shades one by one, filling the office with gathering light. It’s transformed from the gray moonlit place into another one entirely, and as the gears hum quietly, Ozpin turns back to him, copper eyes a peculiar gold in the rising dawn. 

“I have to go,” Qrow says finally, just to break the silence.  

“I know.” Ozpin’s voice is scraped raw with hoarse exhaustion. “The day is long, and I am weary. You should go back to your teammates and try to get some rest before you have your classes. I’m sorry for keeping you.” 

He turns back around, looking forlorn and lost. Qrow takes a step towards him and, before he can have time to ask himself just what the hell he’s doing or make room for regret, he kisses him. 

To his relief, Ozpin responds to it instead of pushing him away or refuting him— almost desperately, like a gasp of oxygen after suffocating. Silence falls as they cling to each other in the gathering light. Qrow slides his hand up the gentle slant of his jaw, tangling it into the fine locks of silver hair that curl from the nape of his neck, only breaking away to whisper, “What does this mean? What— what even are we now?” 

Ozpin shifts, resting his forehead against Qrow’s. “I’m not sure I know,” he admits, and then, surprisingly, he smiles. “But I’d— I’d like us to be something more, if you do.” He shifts, lets out a sigh. “I find myself feeling a great deal of affection towards you, Qrow.” 

Qrow’s signature crooked grin finds its way across his face  “Is that so?” 

“Mm, quite.” 

Qrow pulls him closer by the tie of his dress-shirt. “I guess I’m alright with that.” He lets go as a loud bell goes off above their heads, the alarm to wake up the students for morning class. “Regrettably, I don’t think any relationship of ours is going to make me exempt from getting a detention pass for being late to Battle Skills. 

Ozpin looks rueful. “Yes, you’re right about that.” He takes a step away, before hesitating and reaching out, snagging Qrow’s sleeve as he turns to go, checking that his sword is sheathed at his hip. “Wait. Can you come back here tonight?” 

He raises a brow. “Can’t. Summer’s making me go to a fitting with her, regrettably, and I’ve got a bunch of classes on Friday, and Saturday I’m due to go to the city with my team, and then the dance is on Sunday.”  

“Ah, yes. Of course. The third year dance is this weekend. It had almost slipped my mind.” 

“You, forgetting something? Is the apocalypse coming up?” 

“You’ve been occupying more of my thoughts than the dance has, believe it or not.” Ozpin waves a hand, signaling him to go. “I’ll see you Monday night?”  He forms it like a question, and not a statement, and Qrow takes the step over the black line into the boxy elevator with a spring in his step, knowing already that Taiyang is going to make so many lewd jokes, but he can’t care, not while his heart is soaring up and down in his ribcage like it’s grown a pair of wings. “Yeah, of course.” 

The last he sees of Ozpin is his face, looking softer in a smile before the doors slide shut and the elevator draws him back down to the main levels of the school. Qrow lets out a deep breath. His skin still tingles; the air moving past his lips feels new and sensitive. 

In the midst of a thousand troubles, he has never felt so happy.  

* * *

In their battle skills class, the professor pairs them up for sparring matches. No one is focused enough to listen to a lecture, what with the upcoming dance, so Qrow isn’t surprised that he gets paired up with Summer, while Tai is matched off with Raven. 

“What is your _deal?”_ Summer asks after he narrowly misses a strike from her featherstaff. “I know you were gone all night because I saw you sneak into the dorm room this morning, Qrow, did you go off to go have fun with a special someone?” She wiggles her brows, giving him a conspiratorial look. “Cause if you were, I won’t tell Tai. Not even if he steals all my notes from class.”  

He brandishes his sword over his head and plunges it down to block her hit. “Nope,” he says. “I was getting a drink in the city, not canoodling at ungodly hours in the morning.” Technically, it’s not a lie, but she rolls her eyes. 

“I’m not a special kind of stupid, Qrow, you don’t look giddy and dreamy after taking a few shots in a city bar. You can hold your weight in alcohol.” 

He drops his sword, catching his breath as his muscles murmur in protest. He can’t imagine her reaction if he told her the truth. “It’s nothing, okay? Would you drop it?” 

“Hmm.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Well, the fitting is this afternoon, so no sneaking off, okay? We’re not missing it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll be there if it gets you out of my hair. What are you, my mother? Gods, let me be.” 

She gives him a dirty glance before the teacher calls time on their sparring matches, and right then, the bell rings, a sharp two-tone noise clanging through the room. Chatter goes up from the students as they tuck away their weapons and file out, and Qrow catches snatches of speculation about the dance. He’s not looking forward to being crammed in a sweaty room of his peers while they awkwardly spin around and play at being adults in love. He’d rather spike the punch bowl with vodka. Gods know it’d cause some amusement in an otherwise hellish night. 

Summer peels away from Qrow’s side and beelines for the door, passing by Raven and Taiyang, who have their heads bent together in conversation. He doesn’t miss the way Taiyang gives Summer a narrow, offended look as she flounces by, and how she snaps her head away from him sharply, chin going up. There’s something there that’s different in their usual back-and-forth dynamic; Qrow thinks they’ve quarreled. It’s not uncommon between partners— put two people in close proximity for years on end and they’re liable to clash at some point, no matter how well they get alone— but it’s peculiar for Summer Rose, what with her unfailing forgiveness and optimism, and also the fact that she’s blindly in love with the idiot. 

He rests his gaze on Taiyang and Raven and lets out a thoughtful noise. It’s easy to feel isolated from the three of them sometimes. They’ve got some weird, tangled up relationship with tri-pointed hate-and-love, and he would sooner stick his own hand into a pit of writhing snakes than try to decipher how they all feel about each other. 

Raven sees Summer stalk out of the classroom, and with a quick word to Taiyang, she departs, presumably to go after her. Qrow’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead even further. Adjusting his sword on his hip, he hurries up to Taiyang and socks him in the shoulder. “So what was that all about?” 

Taiyang looks flustered. “Huh?” 

“I get that it’s not too much of a trick for you to play dumb, but I’m not blind. Why are you and Summer fighting?” 

He pops a knuckle, tucking away the brass coverings he wears over his hands to pack a bigger punch. “Girls are complicated, my feathery friend, and I pray nightly that you will never have to deal with two of them at once.” He lets out a sigh, but it’s less of a troubled sigh, and more of a dreamy one. “Your sister’s really something, you know.” 

Qrow grunts. “Is this the part where you ask for my blessing?” 

“Shut up,” he retorts, before giving him a sly, sidelong look, his brows drawn down in curiosity. “I’m not the only one with imminent romantic prospects, am I?” 

Qrow stiffens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If I’m crossing a line, let me know. I was a dick back when we got in a fight in first year,” Taiyang says, his gaze open and frank. “But, you know, my point still stands, doesn’t it? I’m just not going to use it against you or anything. Especially because, well…” His face clouds over. “I know that love can be a bitch sometimes, right?” 

“It’s not always so bad,” Qrow says unthinkingly, and Tai’s eyes round out as he gives Qrow a devilish look. 

“Oho, so _that’s_ where you were last night, huh? I can’t pretend to understand your tastes, but.” He clears his throat, tugging on his school uniform’s tie. “Whatever makes you happy— so long as it’s not girls who are crazier than a fox in a fit.” 

* * *

The night of the dance finds Qrow sweating in a crisp, formal suit that Summer selected for him at the fitting, while he sits at a table in the shadows, by himself. Raven and Taiyang are dancing together, so clearly the fifth circle of hell is upon them.  Out in the center of the room, a throng of happy couples sway back and forth. Normally he’d come up with some cynical shit to demoralize all of them, but he can’t deny how content they look, and he envies it. The bliss of first love is as much of a drug as something physical. 

He looks around. Ribbons hang in disgustingly thick clusters from chandeliers, and lanterns that glow in demure shades of gold and rose are set up at little tables rimming the perimeter. The punch bowl sparkles in a way that makes the devilish side of Qrow long to spike it with vodka. But he refrains. 

Taiyang walks up to Qrow, points at a lantern, says it’s cool, picks it up, and it immediately dies. 

“Mother of fuck,” Qrow says. “Why are you over here, did Raven cockblock you or something?”  

“Actually, she stepped on my toe and got embarrassed,” he explains, sitting down and dipping a finger under his suit collar. “And then— well, look at the ballroom and see for yourself, huh?” 

He does. And then he raises a nonplussed eyebrow to see Summer and Raven dancing in a way that’s ambiguously romantic or platonic, and he’s sure not about to walk up and ask them which it is. “You’re not in the clear yet, Taiyang. They may steal each other away and leave you all by your lonesome.” 

He shrugs, poking at the lantern. “Dancing’s not my scene. I’m happy to let them take the floor.” 

“Okay, Romeo.” Leaving him there, Qrow stands up and quickly slips out of the ballroom before Summer can drag him back in by his throat, tugging irritably at his tie and the constricting way it wraps around his throat. 

“Can’t find a dancing partner?” 

Qrow whips around as the voice emerges softly from the shadows, its owner following close behind it, and his heartbeat abruptly slams to a stop and staggers in his chest. Ozpin steps out, looking like a painting done in black and white. His suit jacket hangs open. His copper eyes are gray in the overexposed lights of the stars. Qrow, suddenly very conscious of his messy slouch, undone buttons, the tousled spikes of his hair, jams his hands into his pockets and frowns. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You alright at dancing, or not?” 

Ozpin smiles. It’s small and barely there as it flickers across his lips, but Qrow’s heart tugs in his chest. “I’m afraid that, while I’ve always been particularly at ease on the battlefield, a ballroom floor is regrettably too different for my tastes.” 

Qrow’s throat is dry. Too dry. He rubs at the side of his neck. 

“Do you want to dance with me?” It comes out almost as a challenge. 

Ozpin’s expression turns to something nearing amusement. “If I didn’t know better, I would almost say that was a demand, and not a request.” 

But minutes later, the gentle ambience slanting out of the ballroom door finds them swaying— not quite in dance, not quite standing still— cloaked by the shadows and starlight. 

“Tomorrow’s Monday,” Qrow says against the starched material of Ozpin’s suit, and he’s silent for a long time. But when he does speak, it’s just to echo Qrow’s words from so many nights ago back at him in a question.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 


End file.
